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)
I seriously respect her tenacity, but I’m too irritated by the unwanted thoughts of her dating to have the convo this second. “Coffee,” I mutter. “They have coffee.”
Coffee will center me.
“C it is then,” she says, talking like Fallon in initials. I’m irritated, too, that I find that endearing.
Irritated because I’ve got to get my act together with her. On the one hand, I’m jealous about the possibility of her dating anyone else while she’s fake dating me. On the other hand, I’m annoyingly captivated by every little thing she does.
I drag a hand through my hair as we head to the yellow door of the Puzzle Me This shop. I grab it and hold it open for her, when a third emotion wallops me.
Missing.
My chest aches. I’m taking her to a shop I used to go to with my dad. A place I still go for him. I’m stepping into a place that’s deeply personal without thinking about it, just because I want to steal another moment with her. But that seems to be my game plan these days—if a game plan can be not thinking things through.
I watch her take in the store’s offerings, turning in a circle as she gawks at the displays. A 500-piece cat quarantine puzzle is perched on one shelf, featuring cartoon cats lounging across a living room, bingeing shows, knitting, and reading. Then a frothy pink one called Sugar Rush featuring photos of jars of candy, then a “dogs with jobs” puzzle, where mutts wear lab coats or type at desks.
She spins back around and stares slack-jawed at me. “I could send couples here on their dates.”
I wish I could say that’s why I brought her here. But see above—my game plan is act on instinct.
Instead, I try to see the shop through her eyes—the eyes of a woman wanting to make other people happy. “Yeah, I could see this being a good date spot.”
“A terrific one,” she says, perhaps soaking in the warm cozy vibe, the well-worn couches in the shop, then the tables in the café where couples and friends work on puzzles as they sip coffees and lattes.
That’s an opening if I ever saw one. “Better make sure,” I say, with a wiggle of a brow.
A slow smile spreads across her face. “Okay then, you puzzle nerd.”
“You’re a spreadsheet nerd.”
“And you didn’t deny you’re a puzzle nerd.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Can’t deny it.”
“Birds, puzzles, free food. You’re an interesting man.”
And you’re the most fascinating woman I know. We head toward the café, and…what the hell? I grab her hand, then give a shrug. “The moment called for it.”
“The moment is making a lot of calls today,” she muses, as she looks at our linked fingers.
“So damn many,” I say as we get in line. A few people are ahead of us, and briefly it occurs to me we’re out in public again.
Sure, we were at Costco, but that didn’t look romantic. Yes, we attended the picnic, but that was a closed event. I haven’t really been out on a date like this in a long time. Hockey players aren’t always recognized in public, or even often recognized at all, but you never know.
One part of me hates the idea of putting myself out there.
Another part of me can’t stop wanting to be with this woman. I also don’t want her to have to lie to her family, so as I thread our fingers more tightly together, I say in a low voice, “Next time you see your mom, you can tell her you planned another great date for us.”
“Aren’t you strategic?”
“Yep. Since this is date-worthy. Or so the romance designer tells me.”
“It’s so DW,” she says, and I don’t let go of her hand as we walk to the counter, as we order, as we wait.
It feels too good to touch her, like it did earlier at the picnic.
But all good things come to an end, and I have to let go when the barista places the cups onto the counter. I grab the coffee and the chai latte, and we slip into a booth with our beverages. There’s a half-completed puzzle of San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge on the table. Maybe two hundred pieces total.
I scan it, instantly spotting a few pieces of cables, and sliding them in easily. She spots one and slots it in. I feel a little like I’ve pulled off a bank robbery. I stole some more time with her on what feels like a real fucking date. I roll up the cuffs of my shirt a few times, and her gaze snaps to my right forearm.
“You have an owl tattoo,” she says, staring right at the fine black lines of the bird.
“I do.” I wonder if she’s seen it before. I wear T-shirts—most of the guys do—during media interviews. Maybe she’s never noticed. No big deal.