Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I clear my throat, but it does little to clear my head. And my knees are embarrassingly shaky, just like my voice. “Um . . . w-what happened?” There’s no way I’m not at least ten shades of red in the face, so I busy myself in the kitchen, making my lunch for tomorrow.
“He took me to the restaurant where his ex-girlfriend is the chef. And she comes out to see if we’re enjoying our dinner. Then, he goes on and on about me being a pilot, and when she seems unimpressed, he ignores me for the rest of dinner. So before dessert was served, I excused myself to use the ladies’ room and left.”
“Uh-huh.” I store my salad for tomorrow in the fridge.
“Jamie, did you hear a word I said?”
“Um . . . yeah, of course. That’s a bummer. Sorry to hear it didn’t go well.” I rest my hip against the counter and cross my arms.
Maren studies me for a second. “Thanks. You okay?”
“Me?” My head jerks backward. “Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re acting weird.”
“I’m just . . .” I shrug. “It was a long day. I’m tired. I probably should have stuck to half a glass of wine instead of a full glass.” I lie, faking a yawn. “I’ll grab a quick shower and head to bed unless you need in the bathroom first.”
“It’s all yours.” She snags the remote. “I’m going to sulk for a bit. Maybe watch a love story, since I think they only exist in movies and books.”
“Ha! Probably.” I slide on my black boots and slip out the back door, pausing for a second. Then I grin and press my fingers to my lips all the way to the shed. On autopilot, I collect my clothes and return to the house. Maren’s watching What’s Your Number? and Fitz’s bedroom door is shut when I reach the top of the stairs. While I shower, I wonder if he’s asleep. Is he thinking of me and that kiss? Is he touching his lips the way I touched mine? Is he touching himself differently?
Are we going to get kicked out of the house?
What am I supposed to say when I see him again?
After my shower, I slip into my sweatpants and hoodie and wrap a towel around my head. I’ve never hurried from the bathroom to my shed as fast as I do tonight. Desperate, I start to text Melissa, but it’s late in Florida. And what would I say anyway? How do I explain something I don’t understand myself?
My heart races, chasing feelings that are sprinting out of control. I lock my shed door and remove the towel from my head. When I reach for my brush, there’s a note tucked beneath it on the dresser. It’s an envelope ripped in half—junk mail.
It’s just a kiss. X
“Just a kiss,” I whisper, tracing the letters with my finger.
Just a kiss at Gary’s party.
Just a kiss in the kitchen.
Will there be more? I hope so. An unavoidable grin steals across my lips.
You’re generous. Distractingly mesmerizing. Quirky in a brilliant way. And ineffably beautiful.
I’m in trouble.
Chapter Twelve
It’s a busy morning in the kitchen as Maren makes an omelet and Will grabs a glass of water and a handful of vitamins after getting home from his shift. Then there’s Fitz, filling a reusable mug with coffee.
As for me . . . well, I’m trying to keep from shitting my pants, vomiting, or making eye contact with Fitz.
Just a kiss. Pfft. It was just a kiss at Gary’s—a singular kiss after a misunderstanding. Last night was the kiss. And there was no misunderstanding. So kiss is now kisses. Plural.
“Later,” Will mumbles, heading up the stairs.
“Later,” Maren echoes while scuffing her teddy bear slippers to the table.
I shove my lunch in a canvas bag, sling it and my purse over my shoulder, and bolt out the door with a quick mumbled “Bye.” The lazy sun finds my face as I reach the end of the drive, giving me hope for spring. When I climb inside my Jeep, I take my first real breath of the morning.
However, that breath dies when my Jeep won’t start. Not a sound.
“Shit.” I grip the steering wheel and close my eyes. After a few deep breaths, I slide out, deflating a little more with every step back to the house.
Maren glances up from her plate as I shut the door behind me.
“My Jeep won’t start.” My nose wrinkles.
“That sucks. Fitz?” I cringe when she yells his name.
He jogs down the stairs and grabs his jacket. “Yes?” Pulling up the zipper, he glances at Maren and then at me.
“Jamie’s Jeep won’t start. Can you jump her?”
Jesus . . .
He tips his chin to focus on his gloves. “Yeah, I can jump her,” he says with a grin that Maren can’t see. Thank god.