Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
My brain hurt from overthinking it.
So I stopped.
Chris wanted to spend time with me and I him, and for now that was all that mattered.
“That sounds great. Favorite movie of all time?”
Going with the subject change, Chris shrugged. “Back to the Future.”
I gaped at him for so long he turned to give me a quick look.
“What?” He frowned. “You hate Back to the Future?”
“I love Back to the Future. It’s just every guy I’ve ever asked that question to answered with a movie I suspected they felt was the correct answer instead of the movie they truly loved. Like Taxi Driver or The Grapes of Wrath. I think yours might be the first honest answer I’ve ever heard.”
He shrugged. “I don’t believe in lying about something to impress people. I don’t believe in trying to impress people, period.”
“Well, you’re an astronaut. You never have to do anything else impressive ever again,” I teased.
He grinned boyishly. “That’s true.”
“And so modest too.” I laughed. “You’re a real Marty McFly.”
Chris chuckled like he was in on a secret I wasn’t.
“What?”
“Nothing. It was just my nickname in the Air Force.”
“McFly?”
He nodded. “My roommate at the academy found out Back to the Future was my favorite movie, and he started calling me McFly. It stuck until I went to Pax.”
“You know Back to the Future is kind of a nerdy favorite movie.”
“I’m a systems engineer and astronaut,” he reminded me pointedly.
“You’re also a fighter pilot and test pilot. You’re like the toughest nerd ever.”
He took my teasing in the good spirit I intended. “What about you? Favorite movie?”
“It’s not very original, but I watch It’s a Wonderful Life every Christmas.”
“I haven’t seen it,” Chris confessed. “To be honest, I haven’t had a lot of time for movies in my life. But if it’s Hallie Goodman’s favorite movie, then I’ll watch it this Christmas.”
I hope you watch it with me this Christmas. The thought snuck into my brain and heart before I could stop it.
TWENTY-ONE
Chris
I just don’t know how you can give this place up,” my Realtor, Megan, said as she followed the photographer around my Midtown apartment. Tomorrow, the place would go on the rental market.
“I’m not giving it up. I’m renting it out,” I replied with a slight bite to my tone. Surely, it was obvious I needed to rent it for financial reasons. And it wasn’t as if I was happy about it. “Your vetting process is solid?”
Megan turned from her spot behind the photographer, who was currently taking snapshots of my open living space. “Chris, of course we’ll vet all prospective renters. No one but the most exemplary renter will get the keys. I promise you that.”
Still not assured, I ignored the knot in my gut and nodded. My phone vibrated in my back pocket, and when I pulled it out, Hallie’s name flashed on the screen. The knot eased a little. “I need to take this.” I walked down the hall and closed myself in the bedroom. “Hey,” I answered. “How are you?”
It had been several weeks since our weekend at my aunt’s house. We’d seen each other merely hours before. Hallie had an event Saturday and during the day on Sunday, but she was free Sunday night, so I’d gone to her place. After watching two comedies together, I’d left her apartment around midnight. Like the last few times I’d seen her since our weekend in the Hamptons, I’d kept a physical distance between us as much as possible. I was afraid if I got a whiff of her perfume, I’d remember what it felt like to hold her, and I’d be too tempted to break my promise: that I would not ask Hallie Goodman on an official date until I felt more certain about my future and until after I’d told her the truth about watching her videos.
Which apparently was becoming harder to do, not easier.
So much for my disaster-risk-management theory.
“My morning is going okay, I guess.”
I liked the sound of her soft voice in my ear.
“I finally found out what happened with the toilet-paper incident. Dad didn’t have my mom arrested, but I only know that because he left me a furious voice mail this morning about my continued absence as if I’m to blame for not controlling her actions.”
Indignation flushed hot through me. “I think you need a break from them. Maybe don’t answer their calls for a while until you’re ready.” That’s what I did with my father.
“That’s what I have been doing. I will have to answer eventually. Anyway, that’s not why I’m calling. The invitation samples for your party arrived this morning, and I wondered if you were free at some point this week to look at them? We really should start making headway on this party if you want to host it next month, and these invitations need to go out ASAP.”