Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
She sits up taller. “Nope. Too permanent.”
“Afraid of commitment?” Seems like a safe bet to me, given the status of her engagement.
Brie gives me side eye, glancing up through a fringe of dark lashes. “No need to analyze it. They’re just not my thing.”
A dab of ketchup rests on the side of her mouth. I swipe it away with the back of my thumb before stealing one of her napkins to clean myself.
I had to touch her. Needed to touch her. I couldn’t resist.
I wanted to know if she’s real.
If this moment is real.
We linger on the park bench long after her lunch is finished, chatting books and art, travel and history. I’ve never considered myself talkative or “chatty.” I don’t tend to speak unless the words about to leave my lips are profound or worthwhile to the listener. But with Brie, the conversation flows. The words don’t stop. I want to tell her everything about me. And I want to know everything about her.
It’s as though my soul has been waiting for her to come along my entire life.
Now here she is.
What I wouldn’t give to make her mine …
31
Brie
I step out of the shower Saturday night to find a text message waiting.
GRANT: HEY, BEAUTIFUL. HOW WAS YOUR DAY? WHAT DID YOU DO?
I wrap a towel around my dripping body and contemplate my response. Do I tell him I returned a book I’d borrowed from his best friend and invited him on a walk? Do I tell him we palled around the city, wandering for hours upon hours with no destination, the conversation flowing like delicious wine? Do I tell him about how we talked about our families? Spent an hour people-watching in Central Park? Do I tell him about the buskers we stopped to listen to on Bleecker Street? Do I tell him about the little Thai place Cainan took me to for dinner? How it was the size of a postage stamp but had the best Som Tam I’d ever tasted?
Do I tell him that being with his best friend inexplicably breathes life into my heart and soul in ways he never could?
I wipe the fog from the mirror, re-secure my towel, and inhale a steamy breath before making my decision.
ME: HAD A GREAT DAY … WANDERED THE CITY, TRIED A NEW RESTAURANT, WALKED FOR HOURS.
I decide to leave Cainan out of it. I don’t want to hurt Grant any more than I already have. I don’t want to make him worry about nothing.
Then again, if I’m leaving him out—I know damn well he isn’t nothing.
32
Cainan
I’m headed out to meet a few friends for drinks Saturday night when my phone buzzes in my pocket. My heart stutters in the moments before I read it, half of me hoping it’s her.
Maybe she forgot something at my place?
Maybe she has a question?
Maybe she’s bored and wants to know what I’m doing tonight despite the fact that we spent the entire damned day together—glued at the proverbial hip yet doing our best to keep our hands to ourselves and our conversation painfully platonic?
But it isn’t her.
GRANT: WHAT’S UP? WHAT’D YOU DO TODAY?
I’m not in the business of lying. Not to myself. Not to my best friend.
I’m also not in the business of being a woman-thieving asshole.
But telling Grant that I spent the entirety of the day aimlessly traversing city block after city block because every step away from my neighborhood equaled more time with Brie … would crush him.
If I told him I saw the city today through her big green eyes, wiped ketchup from her full mouth because I wanted to know what it was like to touch her, if I told him I didn’t look at my watch for hours, ignored a handful of phone calls and texts, and gave her my undivided attention because as far as I was concerned, she was the only living, breathing woman in all of Manhattan—it would devastate him.
ME: SHOWED BRIE AROUND THE CITY A BIT. TOOK HER TO THAT THAI PLACE ON SPRING ST.
I decided to go with the cleanest, most scrubbed version of the truth.
A second later, my phone rings.
“Hey,” I say to Grant. “Everything okay?”
I cringe at the overt paranoia in my tone. He’s going to see through me.
“So,” Grant says. “I was texting with Brie a little bit ago. She told me all about her day … but not once did she mention she spent it with you.”
A heavy silence bridges the thousands of miles that span between us, and a lump settles in the back of my throat.
“Why do you think she’d leave that out?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “Your guess is as good as mine. You ready for Vegas?”
I change the subject. It’s a cheap move. Desperate too.
“Don’t you think that’s weird?” he asks. “Why wouldn’t she mention you?”