Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Free cake is good.”
“That’s what I thought.” I smile. “Mostly I’d hang out at the library or the Santa Monica Pier or the mall with my friends.”
“You grew up near the beach?”
“In the general vicinity.”
“We moved to Malibu when I was thirteen. It was a hell of a change from home. Not much sunshine in Scotland.” His fingers tap against the table. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“With the wish list?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, first I have to organize all of this and come up with a clean copy of my top twelve most desired things to do. A dozen feels like a doable number. Along with a backup selection in case some don’t work out. That’s going to take a little while. But it’s best to be prepared, right? I don’t want to rush and leave out something that could be great, you know? A ranking system out of ten might be useful. How excited I am about the idea versus how far it will push me out of my comfort zone versus viability, time, and money. I’ve got my Post-its and my favorite ink gel pens and one of my keep-for-a-special-occasion notebooks here,” I say and pause. “You’re frowning at me. Why are you frowning at me?”
“The week will be gone, and you’ll still be sitting here playing with your stationery.”
“That’s not necessarily true.”
He just looks at me.
“Fine,” I say. “What would you do?”
He downs the rest of his beer and stands. “I should be able to get my hands on a convertible for tomorrow. I’ve got some business in the morning. Meet you here at around three?”
My mouth hangs open for a moment. “Uh. Okay.”
“Give me your number,” he says, pulling his cell out of his back pocket.
I enter my number into his phone and hand it back. A moment later, my phone vibrates with an incoming text. This is all happening very fast. At least for me. “I’m confused. Are we becoming friends? Is that what’s happening here?”
“Do not misuse my number,” he says in a particularly stern voice with a very serious expression on his face. A combo that hits me right between my legs.
“As if I would misuse your number.” I am shocked and stunned that he’s sharing it with me. Given his general distrust of people and his need to keep things private. It’s a huge act of faith on his part. “What am I going to do, Ali, text you pictures of my feet?”
“And don’t make a big deal out of this. It’s a onetime thing,” he says, heading for the door. “You need help. I happen to know someone with a convertible. That’s all.”
“Of course. I appreciate you putting yourself out like this. Thank you.”
He gives me a stiff nod.
“It does kind of feel like we’re becoming friends, though.”
“So long as you don’t think we’re soulmates, I don’t much care what you call it.” He opens the door. “Come and lock this behind me.”
I set down my glass and stand. “I know basic home security. You’ll note that I didn’t even bring up the soulmates thing this time. That was all you.”
“See you tomorrow. Don’t forget your scarf,” he says and shuts my front door in my face. As one does.
7
Monday
After an hour of working on the wish list, I curl up in my preferred spot (a surprisingly comfortable old black leather armchair I found in a vintage store) with Slave to Sensation by Nalini Singh. New adventures over the next week sound great, but so does visiting with old favorites. The books, music, and movies that helped make me.
There are many reasons for rereading a story. To remind us of special times. To revisit characters who feel like best friends. To wander again through worlds that thrill and delight. Fiction has always been an escape from reality. When you know what’s coming, however, books also become a place of absolute safety and comfort.
I read until the early hours. It’s easy to forget how quiet it gets when the night’s slipping away but it’s not yet morning. How silent and still everything is once the world goes to sleep. Feeling like you might be the only one awake is a small and curious sort of magic. Until some drunk down the block starts yelling and kills the vibe. That’s when I know it’s time for bed.
Much later that morning, I walk to my favorite local café for the best breakfast burrito. Scrambled eggs, black beans, ham, Monterey Jack cheese, guacamole, and salsa on a white-flour tortilla. With strong coffee, of course. The joy this breakfast brings to my mouth and belly cannot be underestimated. It truly is the simple things in life sometimes. I follow it with some online snooping into Alistair Lennox.
I could lie and say it’s purely educational. Knowing what topics to avoid would be useful when dealing with him. But let’s be honest, it’s just me being nosy. But also, when your life is out of control, you look for ways to cope. And research is an old and proven coping mechanism of mine.