Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“No, thanks.” Charlotte didn’t reach for the oversized sheet of paper that was laminated in thick plastic. “I’m not hungry.”
I hesitated. “Are we not doing dinner?”
My question caught her off guard, which—it shouldn’t have. I’d asked her if she would want to grab dinner with me some time and if I could have her number. And after we’d texted back and forth, we’d settled on meeting at this restaurant at seven o’clock. That seemed pretty obvious to me we would be eating, but she tilted her head in confusion.
“Maybe we should have drinks first and see how that goes.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a faint smile curl on Sydney’s lips, and embarrassment sliced hotly down my spine.
I dropped the food menu, scooped up the cocktail list, and grinned. “You know what? That’s a great idea.”
Because that meant I could get out of this evening much faster than having a full meal with a date that wasn’t going anywhere.
The restaurant was loud.
Not just the music playing through the speakers, but from the sounds of cutlery on plates and all the conversations going on around us. It made it difficult to overhear what Sydney was talking about with her mother. Although it seemed like her mom was doing most of it in a low voice, and Sydney was simply listening.
I picked up some keywords though, while I pretended to study the cocktail menu. They were talking about Vanderbilt next year, which made sense. It was late May, so she’d probably just finished her sophomore year.
But whatever her mother was saying, it caused unease in the younger woman. Her eyes grew wider, and her throat bobbed with a hard swallow.
It wasn’t any of my business, but her reaction . . . I didn’t like it. Different emotions played out on her face, and each left me more unsettled. Confusion was replaced with distrust, and then it morphed into something that looked a hell of a lot like panic.
Abruptly, she stiffened to sit upright in her chair.
“No.” This word from her was loud and angry.
“I know you’re upset, but be reasonable,” her mom said, matching her daughter’s volume. “If you still want to go when it’s all done, that’s fine. But get your degree first. Being a cook is a job, not a career, and you’re too smart to have to work nights and weekends.”
Charlotte was oblivious to the tension one table over. “I think I’m going to try the lavender lemon martini,” she said in a bright voice. There wasn’t a server at our table; she was talking to me like I wanted to know.
“Sounds great,” I lied, shifting my focus back to the Novaks.
“Are you kidding?” Sydney’s tone was a mixture of shock and betrayal. “We had a deal. I held up my end of the bargain.”
Her mom’s expression was skeptical. “Maybe we suggested you give it another year to see how you feel, but we didn’t make any promises. There was no ‘bargain.’” She straightened her shoulders and tipped her head down, using the same posture my mom used whenever she lectured me. “You might think you want this right now, but tomorrow that could change, and then what? We’re talking about your future here.”
Sydney opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly a thought sidelined her. She glared at her mother with accusatory eyes. “Is this why you insisted we go out tonight? You knew how I was going to react.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, my god. Did you pick this place because you hoped I’d stay quiet?”
Mrs. Novak ignored her daughter’s question. “I know you’re disappointed, but your father and I just want what’s best for you. Once you have your degree, if you still want to try culinary school, we’ll be happy to help you. We just need to know you have an education to fall back on in case things don’t work out.”
Movement temporarily drew my attention back to the woman in front of me. Charlotte had crossed her arms and leaned on the table, staring at me expectantly like I’d missed something.
“Sorry,” I said automatically.
“I asked what you were going to get to drink.”
“Uh . . . haven’t decided yet.” I peered down at the narrow list of drinks but couldn’t focus on any of the writing. Even without looking at her, Sydney held my attention. The friction that radiated from her toward her mother was like a bomb ready to explode.
And then I made the terrible mistake of lifting my gaze to glance at her.
Jesus. She looked . . . shattered.
Her world was collapsing inward, and it had a gravity I couldn’t escape from. Her eyes turned blurry, clouded with disappointment and outrage, and her gaze reeled around wildly, searching for something.
When she discovered me, she latched on and blinked away some of the chaos, sharpening her focus. I had the weird sensation that staring at me was just barely keeping her afloat. I was a piece of wreckage that happened to drift by, and she had no better alternative to grab on to.