Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
As my foyer filled with people, Embry came up to me and said, “Wow, you’re really tall. I hadn’t realized.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Why did I say that? Apologizing for my height sounded completely nuts, except that he was about five-six, and the fact that I was six-foot-two might seem intimidating.
“No, it’s a good thing. I always wished I was taller.”
I indicated the scruffy tan and white dog in his arms and asked, “Who do we have here?”
“This is Dusty. I brought him along because he’ll be living here too if we go through with this, so I thought you should meet him.”
I held my hand out so the dog could sniff it. “That’s a cute name.”
“It’s short for His Royal Highness Bartholomew Dust Mop, of the San Francisco Dust Mops.”
What the fuck? “Is he a show dog?”
“No.” He left it at that and gestured at the small crowd in front of us. “These are my very best friends. We call ourselves the Pink Victorian Crew, since we all live in—well, obviously, a pink Victorian. It’s by Dolores Park, and it’s really wonderful. You need to come over sometime.” Then he indicated the women in the group and told me, “This is Yolanda Gutierrez and her wife, Josephine Deveraux. They’re two of the best people you’ll ever meet.”
The petite brunette eyed me suspiciously as we shook hands. But her tall, curvy wife, who had a bit of a Marilyn Monroe thing going on, smiled at me and grasped my hand with both of hers. “Everyone calls me JoJo. It’s nice to meet you, Bryson. You have a beautiful home.”
I barely got a thank you out before a dark-haired guy joined us with another man in tow. “Hey, I’m Lark,” he said, “and this is my boyfriend Dylan. This is a cool neighborhood, but I always giggle at that name. Nob Hill! Like, who thought of that?” Lark was upbeat and almost but not quite as small as Embry, while Dylan seemed very serious and bore a resemblance to a younger Idris Elba. He was tall, good-looking, and so fit that I felt self-conscious about my dad bod.
After I mumbled a few greetings, Embry directed me to the last two men in the group. He introduced a willowy guy named Hal Nakamura, who had long, dark hair, was dressed all in black, and could really only be described as strikingly beautiful. Hal’s grip when we shook hands was more assertive than I’d expected it to be, and his skeptical gaze told me he wasn’t sold on any of this.
Finally, Embry said, “Last but not least, this is my dear friend Vihaan Khatri. Everyone calls him Vee.”
Vee was a South Asian guy who’d dressed in a suit and slicked his black hair into a stubby ponytail for the occasion. Actually, the whole group was pretty dressed up. It made me question whether I should have gone with something other than a Henley and jeans.
I said, “Thank you for coming,” as I held out my hand. Vee’s arms were crossed over his chest, and he made me wait for a beat before he shook it. He was definitely the most skeptical of all of them, and it made me wonder—would Embry bail out if his friends didn’t sign off on this? If so, I was pretty screwed, because it wasn’t like I was going to win anyone over with my bubbly personality.
I directed everyone to the lounge at the back of the house, and Embry said, “This place is really nice,” as he fell into step with me on our way down the hall.
“Thank you.”
“Have you lived here a long time?”
“Since I was ten, except for a few years when I went to culinary school and trained in New York and Europe.”
“So, your parents live here, too?”
“My dad bought this house after he and my mom split up, so it was just him and me. But he died four years ago.”
“I’m sorry, Bryson.” I never knew what to say to that, so I went with a mumbled thank you. “Does your mom live in San Francisco?”
“No. She’s currently living in Europe with her second husband.”
“How often do you get to see her?”
“We’re estranged, so it’s actually been several years. She never forgave me for choosing my dad over her in the divorce.”
“I haven’t seen my mom in a few years, either,” he said. “She never really wanted to be a parent, so once I moved out she was pretty much done with me.”
“What about your dad?”
Embry shrugged. “Never met him.”
“It sounds like you didn’t have a very easy childhood.”
“It wasn’t so bad. Fortunately, I had the fair folk to raise me.”
We’d reached the kitchen, and I came to a stop and turned to him slowly. Oh, no. Was this person delusional? Had I missed the signs? I asked, as delicately as I could, “You believe you were raised by fairies?”