Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
I hit end, watch it, then roll my eyes. Fuck, that’s cheesy, but it’s on brand for us—full of sarcasm and love. And, really, you should tell the people in your life that you love them.
Because you never know.
9
THE WARM NUT CONSPIRACY
Maeve
“Question for you,” I begin as our short flight to Vegas hits cruising altitude.
“Hit me,” Asher says, stretching his long legs out in front of him in first class. He always upgrades us whenever I travel with him—an extravagance he waves off, saying he has points or that he fits better in this row. The luxury, which I eat up while I can, is the opposite of my life. I live in a tiny apartment with a shower that’s too short, a toilet that faces the wall, and a couch with a broken spring.
When I fly solo, it’s all cramped seats and rude people clipping their toenails, so I try not to get too spoiled on our trips. But still, I like Asher’s world better—a world of warm nuts and champagne.
I nod toward the flight attendant in the nearby galley, prepping beverages and snacks for our short ride across the California sky. “Day drinking—yes or no?”
A smile coasts across Asher’s lips, and the thought that pops into my head is I kissed those full lips, and they tasted good.
Pretend it didn’t happen, girl.
“Yes,” he answers. “Because don’t you know? There’s no alcohol in champagne when you’re flying.”
“The nuts are calorie-free, too, right?”
“Obviously.”
“Maybe I can get two of each,” I whisper.
“Go for it,” he urges.
But when the attendant comes by with a tray of both, I behave myself and only take one flute and one tiny dish of warm, salted nuts. I pop a cashew into my mouth and sigh happily as I chew, enjoying this respite from my normal life where I don’t know if I’ll ever catch a big break. “Why are warm cashews better on planes? Are they this good on land?”
“No one knows. No one serves them on land.”
“Why not?” I demand.
“It’s one of the great mysteries of the universe, Maeve,” he says.
I playfully bang my fist on the armrest. “We need to solve that mystery, Asher.”
“How about this? When we return, we’ll get to the bottom of the warm nut conspiracy.”
That’s what friends do—tackle silly adventures together. “I’m in,” I say, snagging an almond.
Asher holds up a finger to catch the flight attendant’s attention. “Hey, Ginger. Thanks for these, but it seems mine disappeared into my stomach already. Any chance I can have another dish of warm nuts?”
“Of course, sir.”
“See? You’re an addict, too,” I tease.
Teasing him will remind us both that the kiss last week was just for show, and that’s all. I can’t risk being too much for Asher. What would I do without these moments with him?
When Ginger hands Asher a white ceramic dish, he thanks her and then slides it onto my tray. “Here you go,” he says.
Oh. “I thought you were getting that for yourself. You said—”
My eye falls on his full dish. The nuts didn’t disappear into his belly. He got the extra…for me. It’s a small but completely Asher gesture. A friendly gesture.
“You enabler,” I say with a smile. Clearly, he wants to stay in the friend zone too.
“What can I say? I aim to please,” he says, lifting his glass of champagne.
He’s resetting. This is good. This is exactly what I need. What we both need—a reminder that the kiss didn’t mean anything more for either of us. I know a good way to recalibrate too.
“Plane selfie,” I declare, whipping out my phone. “Speaking of, we still need to plan our big adventure this year.”
He gives me a look like I didn’t just say that. “I told you that last month.”
Oops. “I can’t help it if you’re more on top of things than I am,” I joke.
“I even gave you suggestions.”
Hmm. Maybe he did. “This is sounding vaguely familiar.”
He rolls his eyes. “Airstream glamping. Yoga with pigs. Or visiting the new hot pepper truck in Darling Springs.”
I tap my chin. “Those are all tempting.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “That’s what you said when I texted them to you.”
“I’m nothing if not consistent, then.”
“Take the pic, Maeve.”
“I am definitely on top of our photo album though,” I point out.
“You are,” he concedes.
I’m the keeper of our never-ending pictorial record. I add to it all year long with snaps like this of daily life and then show it to him on our annual Big Adventure trip.
I hold up the camera and lean next to him, my shoulder bumping his. A spark skitters down my chest.
That’s odd.
I don’t think I’ve felt a spark like this with Asher before. Not one that traveled between my thighs. Except…maybe I did after the auction? When we kissed on the street?
But that was a normal byproduct of a kiss. That’s all.