Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Me: Do you want to meet at the library?
There’s no reply for almost an hour. I’ve almost forgotten about the invitation when my phone buzzes.
Frankie: Sorry. Got caught up in something. Are you at the library yet?
Me: Not yet.
Frankie: Meet you there in two hours?
Me: Sounds good.
I have two hours now to finish up my work, but since it isn’t going so well, I decide to go home early. I change into something I hope will impress Frankie. It’s a little more formal than what I usually wear. I have to remember that we’re going to the library. That means we might study together or do something else equally unromantic. But the thought of seeing him again fills me with joy. I’m skating dangerously close to something like love, and it should frighten me. But instead, all I’m feeling is a sense of satisfaction and anticipation of the night to come.
I waste an hour and a half going over my notes and getting ready for my date. I need to come up with something to do if we are going to work at the library. I decide to double down on what Frankie thinks is genealogical research. I pull up a few articles about previous mayors and print them out so that I can show him. It’s a simple distraction that will allow me to pull the wool over Frankie’s eyes.
I feel a little guilty about that, but only slightly. There’s no way in the world I can be honest with him, so this small lie seems inconsequential. I get into my car with my laptop in a carrying case. Driving to the library, I rehearse my story in my head. Instead of working on an article about his family, I’ll tell him I made little to no progress on my city history project. I’ll deflect any direct questions and make the whole evening about Frankie. Who knows, maybe I’ll even get some intel out of the arrangement.
I park on the street and walk up to the library. I’m expecting to find him studying inside, but he’s waiting for me on the steps. He takes me in his arms and kisses me before I can even say hello. I’m astonished. He’s never been affectionate in public before. I wonder if something’s changed.
“You’re in a good mood,” I say, when he finally lets me go.
“I had a good day,” he remarks.
“What was so good about it?” I ask, linking my fingers together behind his neck. I’m gazing up into his eyes, astonished by the joy within them. He’s really and truly happy, something that I don’t know if I’ve ever witnessed before.
“I don’t know,” he responds. “Just seeing you makes everything better.”
I put my head against his chest and hold him tight. That isn’t an answer to any of my questions, and it doesn’t give me any insight into his daily activities. But that doesn’t really matter. He’s happy to see me, and I’m happy to see him. Whatever else is going on in our lives can’t hold a candle to that.
“What do you say we skip the library and go for dinner?” Frankie suggests.
“Sure,” I agree. “I actually did a lot of my work already.”
“You spent the day working?” He guesses.
“Pretty much,” I respond. “Although I spent a few hours getting ready for our date.”
“A few hours?” he gasps, looping one arm around my shoulders and leading me away from the library steps.
I link my arm around his waist, and we walk down the street, officially a couple. If anyone sees us now, there’s no mistaking what’s going through our brains. I don’t even look like an undercover journalist anymore. I’m wearing nice clothes and practically hugging my mark as we walk and talk. I hope Mario isn’t around somewhere taking pictures. Mr. Harlan would yank me from the story faster than a lightning strike if he found out.
“There’s a tiny little restaurant just around the block,” Frankie says.
“How is it you know so much about restaurants in this city?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy eating?” I tease.
“Among other things,” he agrees.
I let that slide. I’m hoping that the other things he’s talking about aren’t directly related to his father’s empire. I want to believe that he’s just an innocent bystander who has nothing on his plate other than the bar exam. Some part of me wonders if I’m being naïve, but another, larger part, believes that it’s okay to trust my gut. I know Frankie isn’t a dangerous man. Whatever he’s doing at all the restaurants he visits can’t be all that bad.
I follow his lead around to the opposite side of the block. The place he wants to go is a tiny sliver of a place, wedged between a sandwich shop and a bookstore. We step inside, and the smell of curry hits me. It’s warm and welcoming, and my stomach grumbles in happy anticipation.