Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Yes, my mom had a piece of property I’m selling, so I need to go close on it.”
“Oh.” Her brows drag together. “Where is it located?”
“In Littleton.”
“That sounds familiar.” She looks at Roman. “Isn’t your company buying property in that area?”
I look up at him with my heart suddenly in my stomach.
He couldn’t…
He didn’t, did he?
When I got the offer on the property, we hadn’t even left Oregon yet. I didn’t even really know him—at least, not well.
“Hello.” A deep voice cuts into my thoughts, and I find a man wearing a white shirt with a black vest and slacks standing beside the table. “Did you have a chance to look over the wine menu?”
“Can we get a bottle of Château Lafite and a bottle of Château Rayas for the table?” Roman asks, and I notice his fingers have moved from just resting on my thigh to grasping it tightly.
“Of course.” He bows slightly before backing away.
“Do you have family in Wyoming?” Lucia asks, and I focus on her instead of the odd feeling that is not quite good and not quite bad swirling around my insides.
“Yes.” I pick up my water and notice my hand is shaking. “My mom’s brother and sister live there.”
“It will be nice for you to go back and see them, then.” Francesca smiles.
“Yes.” Or I hope it will. In all honesty, I have no idea how that reunion will go.
The last two times I tried to call my aunt, she sent me to voicemail. And since I don’t feel like I have anything to apologize for, I didn’t leave a message saying sorry, which I know is what she wants to hear. And I haven’t even attempted to call my uncle. We’ve never had much of a relationship. Even when my mom was alive, he was distant.
“So, how do you like it in Manhattan?” Sofia asks, leaning back so a young man can refill her water.
“I like it. It’s way different from where I grew up.”
“I’m sure it is,” Ricardo mutters, and I swallow.
“She’s adjusting.” Roman squeezes my thigh, and I look up at him. “I haven’t had the time to show her very much, take her to any shows, or half the museums she wants to visit, but she’s been finding her way around.”
“If my boss lets me have a day off when you get back, I’d love to play tourist with you.” Sofia looks at Roman and smiles.
“I’m sure we could work that out,” he replies.
“You work for your brother?” I ask because that is news to me.
“I do, but I work in the office dealing with paperwork and closings. I tried my hand at selling but just didn’t have the knack for it.”
“You’re good at what you do,” he tells her gently.
“Do you—?”
“No,” Lucia answers before I can even ask her if she also works for Roman. “I own a small boutique near Penn Station.”
“Lucia went to FIT.” Sofia rolls her eyes, and Lucia rolls hers back. The gesture that is so normal between sisters is sweet, and it makes me curious how Val would have fit in among them. Would he have been serious, like I know Roman is outside of his relationship with me, or would he have been playful, maybe even a jokester, despite how stoic Ricardo is?
The server comes over with the two bottles of wine, and Roman waves him off when he asks if he’d like to try them.
“What is your plan if you’re moving here to be with Roman?” Ricardo asks as I point at the bottle of red when I’m asked which wine I want.
Every time he talks, my muscles involuntarily tense.
“I—”
“She has time to figure that out,” Roman cuts in before I can respond.
“I’m sure she can answer for herself.” He glares at his son.
I rub my lips together as I feel everyone watching me. Waiting. “I worked at a daycare before my mom needed me full-time. I really enjoyed my job, so maybe I’ll find something like that or go to school to get my teaching degree.” I feel like an idiot saying that while sitting among them, but I’ve never really thought about what I want to do or who I want to be when I grow up.
“You want to work at a daycare?” Ricardo prompts with a hint of disapproval.
“I don’t know.” I drop my eyes from his. “When my mom was alive, my life revolved around her, and when I was working at the daycare, they always gave me any time off that I needed. And I just liked working with little kids. None of them judged or hated or cared about anything except for how you made them feel.”
“There are some really great daycares right here in the city, and I know a few of the owners. If you decide that’s what you’d like to do, I can put in a good word,” Francesca offers, and my nose starts to sting when I don’t hear even a hint of judgment in her tone, only sincerity.