Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
He scrubs a hand across the back of his neck then shrugs, a little helplessly, like he’s giving in to something. His expression gentles even more. “You’re the first person I’ve really wanted to understand me,” he says, a quiet confession and one that makes my heart beat wildly. He shifts his gaze to Lacey’s list. “But also this list. Lacey never got to do all these things. The road trip, the breakfast, the secrets.” He pauses, then seems to backpedal. “But actually, now that I say that, I think I’ve always been doing this for me—the list. To spend more time with you.”
That wild beating turns chaotic. It’s like a riot in my chest, and I don’t know what to do about it except keep the focus on him. Maybe I can protect him in a way—with how I treat him. “You deserve nice things too.”
“Thanks,” he says, and there’s relief in his features. He seems…lighter.
“I’m sorry that you’ve been carrying this guilt. And I’m sorry that you were splitting up with Heather. Mostly I’m sorry you felt you had nobody to tell that to. But I’m glad you told me.”
“Me too.”
We’re both quiet for a minute. It’s tough to know what to say next after someone unburdens themselves with a secret they’ve been storing in a locked safe. I chew on my lip for a second, then say, “There’s something deeply ironic about the fact that everyone knows my business and nobody knows yours.”
But perhaps that’s why my chest is racing, and something tugs on me—the wish to share with him too. It’s not easy since my dirty laundry was broadcast on the Jumbotron, but there are still things I keep close to the vest.
One look at number five on the list and I feel the suffocating weight of another secret press against me. A secret I’ve only started to unpack over the last few years. Something I’ve been wondering every time I’ve tried to plan a date for someone else, especially recently.
Here goes.
“I don’t know if I’m a romance designer for the right reasons,” I admit.
43
NO ROSES OR SYMPHONY
REMY
This feels a little like flinging open the door on a warm summer day and drinking in the sunshine.
And also like turning down a dark, creaky corridor late at night.
“Talk to me,” Lake says, both a calm command and a gentle invitation, which is sort of his style. And maybe that’s why I’m saying this out loud first to him and not to Elena.
The thought has flitted past my mind when I’ve written down topics for our sessions. But I haven’t quite voiced it.
I feel safe with her, of course.
But with Lake I also feel seen. Maybe because I let him see me.
And so, I take the next step.
“Lately I haven’t felt inspired. I’ll try to work on dates, but my mind just wanders,” I begin. “It’s like I have romance-planner’s block. But I don’t think I really have that. I don’t think that’s a real thing. I think it’s because—” I stop, pausing to take a deep breath because this is as uncomfortable as being on an exam table at the doctor’s office but you know you have to do it anyway. “I think it’s because I’ve always done it.”
He nods, which surprises me. “Is this to do with what your parents said at the picnic? About the dates you planned for them?”
Tears prick the back of my eyes. My throat tightens. How did he notice that? But then again, that’s what this man has done. From the night at the arena when he found me wearing a hat, then insisted on giving me a ride home, then declared he was going to be my fake date, he’s always been finding me. “Yes,” I say. “How did you know?”
“The way you reacted. You tensed up; you shifted to another topic right away.”
“And you gave me a look. A curious one,” I say, recalling that too. A look I didn’t want to acknowledge then. But I do now.
“I figured you’d talk about it when and if you were ready.” He drags his chair even closer to me, so close our knees knock. It’s reassuring, the knee connection. “What’s going on, Remy?”
Now it’s my turn. I’m the only one who can do the rest of this excavation. “When I was younger my dad went through this whole period of depression and honestly, not even wanting to be here on this planet at times,” I say, then I choke up at the mention of his struggles. “And my mom was there for him and she helped him, and they went to therapy alone and together. He always felt like he was bringing her down. He felt like his sadness was ruining her happiness. And she just wanted to show him that she loved him. That he wasn’t bringing her down. That she wanted them to stay together, even if he struggled with his…mental health.”