Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“I’ve had a great time tonight,” I say, wrapping my hands around my glass. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“I’m glad you are enjoying it as much as I hoped that you would.”
“What made you think I’d like it?” I ask, curious what linked me with Hess in his mind.
He sighs, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I don’t know. You’re both beautiful, for one. That’s the most obvious thing.”
“You know,” I say, grinning, “you’re pretty quick to shower me with compliments for a guy who I’ve worked with for months.”
“I’ve thought about saying them for months. Now I can.”
“Oh, really?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. That can’t be a huge surprise, and it’s part of the fun of this whole thing. I have a window to say everything I want before I have to go back to being your coworker. I mean, you and I would never be together under normal circumstances. I want to fall in love and have a family.” He pulls his brows together. “I’m not sure what you want.”
I understand what he’s saying, and he’s not wrong. If it weren’t for this dating dare, we wouldn’t be together. I’ve said it a hundred times. Still, hearing him say it so matter-of-factly has a little sting to it that I have a hard time shaking off.
“What do you want, Gianna?”
I roll my head in a slow circle, trying to work out some of the tension that has just settled in my shoulders. It’s a fair question, especially for a getting-to-know-you first date. It’s just a question that I don’t like to think about.
“Do you mean after we leave here or …” I joke, hoping he takes the bait. But, of course, he doesn’t.
“I was thinking more broadly.”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “It’s not something I sit around and ponder.”
His brows pull together. “You don’t?”
“Should I? Are there pondering sessions that I didn’t know about? Do we bring our own drinks and sit around a campfire and plot the next ten years?”
He takes a long slug of his beer, watching me over the bottle.
I’ve clearly piqued his curiosity, and my follow-up question didn’t help. People think about their future all the time. It was Astrid’s favorite hobby until she met Gray, and I’d bet that Audrey thinks about it at least ten times a day—maybe more. But when I think about the future and wonder what it will look like for me, I get an overwhelming urge to paint something.
Still, it is a fair question. I’m not obligated to answer it, but I should. I should at least try.
“No one has really asked me this before.” I sigh. “I mean, my friends do. But they’re both at places in their lives where they need to focus on themselves. They’re not too worried about me in the foreseeable future. They know I’ll be fine.”
“But is fine good enough?”
I shrug. “What do you mean?”
“Are you content with being fine? Don’t you want to be happy? Comfortable? Fulfilled?”
“Who said I’m not happy?” I ask.
Frustration dusts his forehead.
“Listen,” I say. “I’m happy right where I am. My goal in life was to buy my own home, and I recently did. I’m fulfilled. I’m comfortable. I have the best job ever, a new boyfriend, and Matilda.”
“Matilda?”
“It’s a long story,” I say as Jackie places another round of plates between us. “What I’m trying to say is that I understand why people want a five-year plan, and for people like you and Astrid, it works. For people like me, all I see are things written in permanent marker, and that feels so … permanent.”
He chuckles, but I can tell he doesn’t quite understand. “Thanks, Jackie.”
“Of course,” she says. “I’ll be back in a bit. Enjoy.”
“What are you trying first?” I ask, surveying the spread. “The stuffed piquillo peppers are so pretty.”
“The empanada is calling my name.”
I smirk. “Do you like things that call your name? I’m taking notes.”
“And I’m trying to show you a new way of dating.” He watches my lips wrap around the pepper. “You’re making it hard—literally and figuratively.”
I lick a bit of tomato sauce from my lips. He shakes his head as he looks away.
“Why do you care so much, anyway?” I ask.
He sets his empanada down and studies me as if maybe he’s not sure either. Finally, he sighs, seemingly content with his deduction.
“Maybe I just want you to see that not all men are … unsafe. Self-serving, maybe,” he says. “Or it’s possible that I dislike you carrying an eject button in your back pocket like a lifeline, and I want you to see how it feels to be safe in a relationship. Just in case you put together a five-year plan at some point and change your mind about things.”
We exchange a look, then a smile, and then something else transmits between us—an energy that I can’t quite name.