Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
She cups her mouth and raises her voice. “Get out of the fancy business-lady skirt and put on a short skirt and some cute boots. Dress like you. Be you.”
And…she’s really, truly, absolutely right. I’m faking being a girlfriend. I don’t want to fake being me.
Taking her advice, I hustle to my bedroom and grab a short white skirt and a pair of cute, lace-up ankle boots. “By the way,” Josie calls out, “I finally got us into that paint-and-sip class.”
“Ooh! The one with the teacher who can supposedly teach us talent-less painters to paint anything?” I’ve been dying to take one of Rana’s classes. Maeve loves her.
“Yes. I had to sell both kidneys, but it’s worth it. Her classes are booked for months. Rana had just enough room for the four of us.”
“Perfect. Your kidneys will go to a good cause,” I say.
I grab a necklace I designed from my jewelry case—silver, with a pair of bells on it. I return to the living room and hold my arms out wide.
“Yes,” she says, clapping like she’s in the audience at a Broadway musical. “You look like you. A fun, bold, confident designer. Now go.”
I leave, but I don’t let myself think Wilder asked me out for any other reason than I was in the right place at the right time.
But the ice cream was really good.
10
THIS STUPID ATTRACTION
Fable
I’m early this time. I don’t want a repeat of the other day where I fly in late and, I dunno, my bra detaches itself from my boobs and flings itself at my boss. I mean, that could happen. Sentient bras could be a thing and then an eye could get poked out.
The Lyft drops me off ten minutes before we’ve planned to meet, and I hope that gives me time to settle in and, well, not trip and fall face-first into his lap.
This girl learns from her mistakes.
With my chin up and confidence on, I walk to the white door with the holiday garland hanging around it, warm white lights softly twinkling overhead. Wilder picked a place called Dahlia’s in Presidio Heights, and it looks like a bistro in Florence. When I walk inside, a confident woman with an ivory complexion and diamond Christmas tree earrings greets me before I can even say hello.
“You must be Fable,” she says.
I laugh nervously. “Yes. I am.”
“Perfect. I’m Dahlia. We’re expecting you.”
“Um, okay,” I say, and I’m not normally speechless but I’m not normally greeted like a special guest at a restaurant or even recognized before I’ve given my name. And I’m definitely never greeted by the owner herself, especially for a Michelin-starred restaurant.
“We have the best table in the house for you,” she says as she guides me through the packed place past a dozen or so tables with small vases filled with white roses and holly berries, surrounded by white votive candles flickering in the dim lighting. The brick walls are lined with art, some abstract, some landscapes of Italy, I think. Maybe Tuscany. I’m not sure, but chefs in the open kitchen plate dishes of steaming pastas and herbed chicken next to mouthwatering bread. As we pass the kitchen, I say, “The decorations are amazing. Classy but cozy.”
“Ooh, that’s a vibe I like,” she says, “And are you having a good weekend so far?”
“Yes. It’s great,” I say, mostly because I don’t know what else to reply with. It’s a standard question, but at the same time, I wasn’t expecting this sort of star treatment.
“We have you out here on the patio. I hope you love it and if you need anything at all, let me know. Any of my staff is happy to assist,” she says, then opens the door to a star-lit patio with heaters set up under an outside tent. It’s like…a Christmas garden in the middle of the city. Poinsettias hang from brick columns. Short evergreens stand in terracotta pots in the corners, with red bows and twinkling lights on the branches. Above us, strings of blue and white lights form a makeshift ceiling. Music plays quietly on a speaker, the soft notes of Nat King Cole making me warm all over.
Yes, it’s good I arrived first so I can catch my breath in this most unexpectedly romantic restaurant.
When Wilder sent me the name of the venue this afternoon, I only looked up the menu. I didn’t poke around and check out the photos. But now that I’m here, it’s clear this is definitely a place where you bring a date. It’s warm and intimate and an escape from the city.
Dahlia guides me toward a corner table, and I guess I won’t beat a man like Wilder to the punch. He’s early. Of course he’s early. That makes all the sense in the world. He’s not a man who arrives late.