Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
But I had not gone to sleep immediately after. I’d spent half the night tossing and turning, replaying the feel of Archer’s mouth on mine. The other half of the night had been spent trying to block out the hurt that it had apparently meant nothing.
He could not have been more clear about that.
“Christian didn’t notice you were gone at midnight?”
“He did, but he didn’t seem to mind,” I admit. “Like I said, the champagne was flowing, and he was starstruck by the guest list.”
“See, so maybe the whole thing is nothing to stress about. New Year’s Eve is just one of those weird little hall pass moments. And it only happens once a year. Didn’t mean a thing.”
I give a distracted nod.
“Wait.” Daphne studies my face very carefully. “Did you want the kiss to mean something?”
“No,” I answer quickly. “Why, do you think it did?”
“Sweetie, it’s not what I think about last night. It’s what you think. You were there. Feeling the feelings.”
“But I’m bad at this stuff.”
“What stuff?” she says, adding more cheese to her bowl.
“Understanding men. Understanding… moments.”
“So it was a moment?” She watches me carefully.
“It sure felt like… something,” I say, staring down at my chili. “But you should have seen his face when he told me to go find Christian. Ordered me to, really. It was like he thought he’d made a fatal error and was desperate to strike it from the record.”
“Hmm.” Daphne chews, looking thoughtful. “So what are you going to do?”
I push my chili around in my bowl. “I’m going to give Archer exactly what he wants and pretend it never happened.”
Daphne sets her bowl aside and exhales. “Okay, I can’t even believe I’m throwing this out there, but… you’re not shutting out Archer because of astrological incompatibility, right?”
“Complete incompatibility,” I say. “Literally everything about our charts points to disaster.”
Based on last night, I’d have to say the stars had gotten it right here.
My best friend’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. “And you’re sure that’s not just an excuse? Something to hide behind so you don’t have to face pesky feelings.”
I take a huge bite of chili so I don’t have to acknowledge this. Aloud or in my own thoughts.
Daphne sighs. “I know that face.”
“What face?”
“Your stubborn one. The expression you get when you’re determined to use your head and only your head because it’s easier.”
“Easier than what?”
She gives me a patient look. “Listening to your heart.”
CAPRICORN SEASON
Today, Gemini, an appealing opportunity comes knocking at your door. On the surface, it seems like a perfect fit. However, as Neptune squares Mars, you may find yourself grappling with a foggy sense of direction and conflicting impulses. This transit can bring confusion and misdirection. Keep all doors open, but don’t walk through any quite yet.
Thanks for having me over. Especially after the debacle that was Christmas,” my brother Jamie says as he nods in thanks for the glass of wine I hand him.
I wince and settle onto the couch, pulling my feet beneath me. “It wasn’t a debacle.” I sip my own wine. “Was it?”
“Emily’s been calling it a scene, if you prefer that descriptor,” Jamie says with a grin. “And if it makes you feel better, she thinks the show was fantastic. She’s still talking about it. We all are.”
“Oh wow, yeah. I feel much better now,” I mutter.
My brother is in town for a conference and asked if we could have drinks before his dinner with his colleagues. He’d even offered to come to me on the Jersey side with a very nice bottle of wine, which we’re now enjoying in the Cottage.
Jamie isn’t bothering to hide his fascination with the colorful assault on the senses that is Lillian’s living room, which still has our aunt’s unique stamp and style all over it in spite of the fact that I’ve finally come to think of it first and foremost as my place, and less “Lillian’s place.” I’ve streamlined the kitchen, put unnecessary side tables in storage, and given just about every closet and bookshelf a thorough purge of stuff, all with Lillian’s blessing.
But Lillian’s unique presence is the strongest in this particular room, and it hadn’t felt right to intrude upon it. It feels important, somehow, that I leave it alone. Mostly, it’s just out of respect.
Though if I’m being really honest? That’s only a partial truth.
Yes, with its loud, old-fashioned wallpaper, brightly colored, mismatched area rugs, and framed photos of, well, women’s butts—though, to Lillian’s point, artsy butts—the room is indeed as unique and nuanced as a fingerprint. Lillian’s fingerprint.
So while my aunt had permitted me to put her stuff in storage—encouraged it, even—the truth is that I’ve left Lillian’s living room exactly as is because I need the reminder.
A reminder that this isn’t my home.
That this isn’t my life.
I’m not really the person who picked up Ethiopian takeout for dinner last night because my horoscope suggested I try a new cuisine. I am not the person who is currently wearing a dark red lipstick because yesterday’s horoscope advised Gemini to change up her look.