Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
‘At Monsieur Baguette, or at monsieur’s baguette?’ The brow move belongs to me now.
‘Seen one big baguette, you’ve seem ’em all. What a girl needs in her life is someone who owns a mighty bread stick and the knowledge to wield it.’
‘You’ve just had a baby. You’re supposed to be baguette opposed.’
‘I’m more baguette adjacent. At least until the doctor says so. I mean, it’s not like I have a secret admirer or anything.’
‘No, you’ve got a fuckin’ overt one,’ comes her husband’s deep voice again.
‘Don’t curse in front of the baby!’ she calls back, turning away from the camera for a beat.
‘I thought he’d left?’
‘Relax, he was just passing by the bedroom door. So, has anything more landed on your doorstep lately?’
‘Look, we really don’t know where the gifts came from.’
‘Do you make a regular habit of rescuing men from the streets? Could there be more men in the San Fran area who’ve recovered from a concussion by way of the restorative powers of your vagina?’
‘You make it sound like I sat on his head.’
‘Head. Face. Whatever you did, he obviously liked it. More to the point, he liked you. Come on, Rose. Who else could’ve been sending you things?’
It’s been two months since I found Remy on my doorstep. Two months since I experienced the best orgasms of my entire existence. Yes, orgasms with an extra s. As in, orgasms of the multiple kind. The morning after the night before—the night before being when I found him battered and bruised on my doorstep, took him to the hospital, brought him home, and tucked him up in bed . . . then got in after him—I woke to him gone. Gone were his wet jeans from the washing machine, his boots from under the chair, and his body from my bed. Every trace of him had vanished, discounting the faint scent of him on my pillow and the delicious aches he left my body with.
‘Sticking around to deliver a personal thank you in the morning would’ve been enough.’ Though my words sound pretty convincing, the fact that he left before I woke did us both a favour. The morning after the night before can only ever be awkward, I think. Especially when you don’t speak the language. An erotic encounter turned to lost in translation.
‘After the five very personal thank yous he gave you before he left? You’re lucky you didn’t wake to a corpse! But it’s clear, whoever he was, he likes you. What’s more, he’s been thinking of you.’
What’s clear to me is the fact that Amber would like nothing more than for me to declare the series of anonymous gifts I’ve received over the last couple of months were from Remy. At first, I’ll admit I was inclined to agree with her hypothesis, especially as the first gift to arrive was a basket of gourmet French coffee. I’d smiled as I opened it, remembering how awful the coffee was I served that night. It felt like he was teasing me a little, and that the gift was a cute sort of thank you.
I’ll admit it made me feel good. Great sex, the decency to be gone before I woke, and the gift of coffee!
But then a fancy-assed European coffee machine was delivered the next day. A three-thousand-dollar coffee machine. I could hardly believe it and left it boxed in case it had been delivered by mistake, especially as it was addressed only to Rose. Plus, there was not a card with either of these gifts.
Then the following week, a beautiful bouquet turned up on my doorstep. Dozens of delicate tea roses all balanced on slender green stems. And no card again. I mean, how difficult could it be to pen a quick thanks with the help of Google Translate? Hell, I’d have even liked it in French!
But even without a card, I could believe the bouquet was from Remy. The coffee basket was cute and appropriate. Also, flowers are a perfect way to say thank you—thank you for looking after him, I mean. Not thank you for the sex. Plus, one bunch of flowers isn’t going to bankrupt anyone, even a bouquet from a fancy downtown florist.
But then another bouquet arrived the following week.
Then another.
Then another, and they were still arriving weekly right up until yesterday, making my apartment smell like a church.
A week after the first bouquet, another gift arrived at my door, and I’ll admit I was set to pitch a fit. But then I opened the box to a silk kimono robe from a New York boutique. Blue and green, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and it makes me feel as regal as a peacock wearing it. Not that I’ve worn it more than once because it’s as ridiculously impractical as it is gorgeous, but also, I checked online, and the thing cost over eight hundred dollars! Eight hundred dollars for a robe!