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)
I decide on champagne and am just pulling the foil off the cork when I hear a knock at the door. It’s an unfamiliar noise. Daphne and Archer always just let themselves in. Christian always rang the doorbell. But a knock?
I go to the door and press my face to the peephole.
Immediately, I step back, my heart pounding. Archer?
I open the door and find a very irritable-looking Archer on my front porch. He has a bouquet of purple flowers in one hand, a plastic bag in the other.
My eyes focus on the flowers first. “Are those from…”
“The Buzzes,” he says, shoving the cut flowers at me. “Don’t worry, I googled the proper way to cut them without damaging their growth.”
“I… they’re…” So perfect.
I shift my focus to the bag, which I now see holds a fish.
“Perseus,” he says a little grumpily. “I actually got him this afternoon, before I realized it was Valentine’s Day, so now it seems…”
“Romantic?” I say, batting my eyelashes.
He shoves the bag against my chest and steps into the foyer, immediately moving to the kitchen.
Then he stops. Steps backward so we’re shoulder to shoulder. He jerks his chin at the fish. “That is not a love declaration.”
My eyes go wide. “Oh, but it’s practically Tiffany’s!”
Only when he storms away with a grunt do I allow myself a smile.
Because it’s better than Tiffany’s.
Very carefully, I untie the top of the bag and let the pretty black goldfish join his new girlfriend in the fish tank.
“Perseus, huh? You know your Greek mythology,” I call into the kitchen.
“Again, Google. Perseus saves Andromeda from a sea monster and… that’s all I remember.”
“They’re also constellations,” I say, joining him in the kitchen. “Perseus and Andromeda. Two of my favorites.”
His eyes flick up. “I know. You’ve told me during one of your late-night rambles.”
Have I?
I don’t remember.
But he does.
Archer lifts the champagne bottle. “I saw that you’ve been tearing at the foil. Am I opening it?”
“Please,” I say, turning my attention to my phone. I pull up the deliberately cheesy Valentine’s Day playlist I’d put together that afternoon and connect it to the little Bluetooth speaker I keep on the kitchen counter.
A few seconds later, as the music swells, I hear the festive pop of a cork, and he pours us each a glass. I try not to remember that the last time I had champagne I was with him.
And that we kissed.
And that he very firmly told me it was a mistake.
“I thought you had to work,” I say, accepting the glass with a smile of thanks.
“I did. I do. I am.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Happy Valentine’s Day, or whatever.” He clinks his glass to mine and takes an irritated sip.
I take a sip myself, then pull the Brie out of the oven, feeling a little gratified at the way his eyes light up. I’ve added a layer of apricot preserves atop the puff pastry–wrapped wheel of creamy, decadent cheese, along with some chopped rosemary, thyme, and roasted pecans. I slide it onto a platter, which I’ve already prepped with fancy crackers and salted apple slices.
“So, Daphne’s sick,” he says, watching as I plate.
“Poor thing. Yeah.”
“And Christian’s… gone.”
“Well not dead,” I say. “Don’t say it like that. It just didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
I glance up briefly at the controlled intensity in his tone, then quickly back at the cheese. I lift a shoulder and try to keep my voice light. “Oh, you know. He has a daughter. Who wants a mom. I might be moving to California…”
“Might?”
I set the platter in front of him, as well as a side plate and silverware. He wastes no time digging in, making me realize that I’ll miss this. Cooking for someone. I didn’t even know I liked cooking for myself, but sharing a meal, whether it’s fancy Valentine’s Day fare or leftover chicken Parm, is an unexpected pleasure.
“I mean probably,” I say quickly. “I won’t know until the interview.”
He nods, then gives me a once-over as he chews, as though seeing me for the first time. “You always dress like this for Daphne?”
I look down at my red dress with a smile. “Only on Valentine’s Day. It’s new. And expensive. But she’s worth it.” I look back at him. “Why’d you change your mind?”
“About?” He wipes his mouth with one of the red, glittery cocktail napkins I’ve set out.
“Tonight. You said you had to work. And hung up on me.” I give him a patient look. “You know, right, that I wasn’t trying to seduce you? You were my backup plan.”
I break off then, distracted by the playlist I’ve put together of some of my favorite love songs. I let out a small, happy sigh at the opening notes of Nicole Henry’s version of “Moon River.”
He watches me. “Having a moment there, Randy?”
“Yes,” I admit openly. “I love this song.”