Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“Thing? What thing?” he asks, still seeming a little lost. Understandable, since I’ve done a terrible job explaining I’m now crooning the finale in her mom’s show. My chest tightens, and I bristle a little inside. But the whole town’s going to know soon anyway. Might as well get it out with a friend first. “Perform a song,” I manage to say, “at a fundraiser.”
Banks shoots me a what the fuck look. Yep, this is why I’ve kept my hobby to myself. Because it doesn’t fit the image I’ve carefully cultivated. The image I needed when I ran the firm with my dad. The way he taught me to behave in business. When being a professional professional—I fight off a smile as I think of Chloe’s words—was my job.
“It’s nothing,” I add quickly, then tug at my T-shirt. It feels too tight. Too hot. Or maybe it’s the knot of tension in my chest growing tighter.
“That’s not nothing. I just had…no idea,” he says.
“Her mom needed help, so she asked me, and I said yes,” I say, making it seem like no big deal that I’m performing a number in front of the whole town. And yes, I leave out the part about the soft blackmail. The karaoke. The whole Sam Silversmith thing. How am I going to tell him that?
“So you can sing?”
I shrug as we run. My version of an admission.
He’s quiet for a few houses as we jog past a row of Craftsman homes, then he says, “I can do origami.”
I shoot him a curious look. “You…can?”
“Yeah. Real elaborate stuff. It’s like…a party trick,” he says.
And the knot inside me loosens, eases up. I give a small smile. I guess we all have hidden talents. “That’s cool,” I say.
“Same for you,” he replies, then clears his throat and nods. “But get that dog, will ya, man? And figure out what the fuck you’re feeling for this woman. Or what you want.”
Dance lessons? Another night at Prohibition Spirit? An evening with her like the one we had in San Francisco, and even the morning after we never had?
What I want is all of the above. But want leads to heartbreak. And I’ve had more than enough of that.
* * *
I’m heading to the door in the late afternoon when my phone rings with a FaceTime call from my sisters. Hmm. I don’t want to be late, but I never turn down a chance to connect with them.
“What’s up?” I say when I answer.
Rachel peers behind me. “Are you watering Pucker?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Mom.”
“You named your plant Pucker?” Juliet asks.
“No!”
“You did,” Rachel says. “Well, Pucker Up is the plant’s full name.”
“It’s not, and you did,” I point out.
“I hate the word pucker,” Juliet says.
“I hate the word moist,” Rachel adds.
“Why did I answer the phone?” I ask the universe.
“Because you love us,” Juliet says.
“So much,” Rachel seconds.
True. But I glance to the door. “I need to…”
Do I tell them what I’m doing? A dance lesson? The teasing will be endless.
“Do what?” Juliet asks, jumping on my unfinished comment.
“Get to…a thing,” I add. Since thing is apparently my word of the day.
“Oooh, what kind of a thing?” Juliet asks.
I clench my jaw but then bite the bullet. If I told Banks, I can tell them. At least they know I can hold a tune. “Chloe roped me into doing a fundraiser,” I grumble. “I have to sing.”
I can’t not invite them to the fundraiser though. I’d face their side-eyes for the rest of time if I didn’t give them the chance.
“Are you going to do ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’?” Rachel asks.
“No,” I say quickly, then tell them the song.
“Oh, I love that one,” Juliet coos. “Will it be karaoke-style?”
“No. And don’t tell anyone I do karaoke,” I say. “I don’t need the whole town knowing.”
“Is that your way of inviting us?” Juliet asks.
“Yeah, thanks for inviting us,” Rachel adds, acting all butt-hurt.
“It literally just happened last night. I was going to.”
“Good. You’d better,” Juliet says. “And your karaoke secret is safe with us.”
At least they don’t know about Sam Silversmith. I only ever shared my alter ego with Katya since, well, I thought I was going to marry her. “Thanks,” I say, then open the door and head to my car. “But what’s going on?”
“Oh, I was just telling Rachel about the pretty woman I introduced you to at the dog party, and then I realized we hadn’t done a dating welfare check on you for a while. And lo and behold…the woman from the party was named Chloe. And so is the woman who roped you into this fundraiser,” she says, shooting me a tell me more smile. “Ergo…”
“It sounds like your dating welfare is good,” Rachel says, real enthusiasm in her tone.
My heart squeezes with that wish once more. “I’m not dating her. She’s actually my…co-worker,” I say, then hop into my car and give them the condensed version of how I met Chloe again.