Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
I’ve done some research since she first brought up the idea of purchasing Randall’s childhood home, so I share my idea with her. “I think I know the perfect way to do that.”
She takes the flowers and ice cream from me. “Thanks for these, Evie. I can’t wait to hear the idea.”
I launch straight into it because why wait when you have something amazing to share? “I found an image of Randall’s parents’ home from twenty-five years ago.”
“You what?” She stops mid-step on her way to the kitchen. “When? How? Where did you find it?”
It took hours of digging, but I scored big when I stumbled on an archived newspaper article online detailing a community gathering on that exact street in Queens. There was one image of the house that Randall’s parents owned and the little yellow house next door to it. Both looked vibrant back then. After sending numerous emails to photo studios in all five boroughs asking if they could crop out the yellow house and print the picture for me, I found one who agreed to do it.
I condense all of that into one sentence to appease Lottie’s curiosity. “I found it online.”
“You’re a genius.” She beams as she shoves the ice cream into her freezer. “So your idea is to give him a picture of how the house looked back then and then tell him it’s his now?”
“Something like that.” I step in place next to her to arrange the roses in a vase already sitting on the counter. “There’s a photographer who takes these magical pictures of New York City landmarks. I thought you might want to contact her to see if she could take one of the house in Queens and then frame it with the older image, too. Kind of a then and now thing that you could hang in the house.”
Her hand jumps to her mouth. “Oh my God, Evie. I love that.”
“Maybe she could include a placard that says something like Charlotte and Randall’s home.”
Her eyes well up with unshed tears. “That’s exactly what it will be. It will be our home. What’s the photographer’s name? I want to check out her work.”
I anticipated she’d ask that, so I tug my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and swipe a finger over the screen to pull up the website of Callie Morrow-Wells. In my effort to research her, I scoured her social media profiles and was shocked to see that she’s Zeke’s sister. The tattooed bartender from Tin Anchor was in a few of the candid shots of her family. The degrees of separation in this city really are small.
“I’ll call her tomorrow,” she says excitedly. “Randall will be thrilled by this. I know he will be.”
I hope he will be. Buying someone a house for a wedding gift seems extravagant to me, but my bank account is a mere fraction of what Lottie’s must be.
“We’re having a whole roasted chicken on a bed of vegetables,” she states proudly. “I’ve never been a great cook, but there’s always room to improve, right?”
“Always.” I nod, glancing at the oven. “I can help you prep it all now to get it in the oven.”
She spins around to face it. “Oh, shit. I forgot to turn the oven on when I put the food in there.”
I can’t control my laughter. “How long ago was that?”
“Too long for us to eat it now.” She shakes her head. “Even if we cooked the hell out of it, I’d be too scared of salmonella or whatever foodborne illness is likely growing on it by now.”
If those words aren’t designed to chase away someone’s appetite, they should be. “Let’s have ice cream for dinner.”
She smiles at my suggestion. “I have some fruit I can cut up, and there are a few different cheeses in the fridge and a couple of boxes of crackers in the cupboard.”
“It sounds perfect to me.”
“We’ll pair it all with a bottle of red wine.” She yanks open a wine fridge that I hadn’t noticed until now. “You choose.”
I bend down to pick a bottle from a vineyard I’ve never tried before. “I’ll help cut up the fruit.”
“Have I told you lately how grateful I am that we met at that jewelry store?”
She has, but I shrug. “You can tell me again. I won’t mind.”
That earns me a huge hug and a laugh. “You get started on cutting up the fruit in the fridge. I’ll get rid of the chicken and vegetables.”
I point to where I know her organic waste bin is hiding in the cupboard under the kitchen sink. “It goes in there, right?”
She pinches her nose and shakes her head. “I won’t be able to stomach the smell for too long. I’m taking it straight to the basement. There’s a bigger collection bin there. When we move to Queens, I’ll compost in the backyard and plant a garden.”