Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Wow.”
Andrew nodded. “To this day, he doesn’t know I know. So please don’t share that with him. But that’s the kind of guy he is. And it’s not just money. When we were in high school, he played for one of the national junior rugby leagues, but he played for the worst team. He could’ve played for the one that won the championship every year. All the teams were clamoring for him. But his coach from middle school coached the shitty team. Guy has some health problems, and Wilder still visits him to this day.”
I nodded. “He’s actually mentioned his coach.”
“Recently I screwed up royally with my girlfriend. I was going to hide it from her, but Wilder talked me into coming clean. He might have a history with the ladies, but he’s always been honest.” He paused. “My point is, Wilder’s only going to tell you the bad shit. But it’s not hard to find the good stuff, if you take the chance to get to know him. He keeps most people at a distance, but the ones he lets in are there forever.” Andrew pointed to me. “And if you tell him I gave him any compliments, I’ll deny it.”
I smiled. “Your secret is safe with me.”
I went back to work, and later that afternoon, I was sitting at my desk still thinking about what Andrew had said. Hadn’t I already seen glimpses of the man he’d described? The loyalty to his brother. Small things like bringing me sugar-free desserts after finding out I’m diabetic, changing his flight to come with me to sell my old wedding dress, and inviting my dad to a rugby game. There was a soft heart under that hard exterior. And I couldn’t deny that I was ridiculously attracted to him. My heart began to race before my brain caught up.
Screw it. I’m doing it.
I was tired of staying in and reading self-help books to figure out who I was. It was time I figured it out by living. So I picked up my phone and texted.
Sloane: If the offer is still open, I’d love to come to London a few days early.
17
SLOANE
“Your seat is this way…” The flight attendant pointed to her left, so I headed down the aisle.
But she had to have made a mistake. The seats were all too spacious in this section. I double-checked the seat number on my ticket as I walked to 9B. Another flight attendant walked over, greeting me with champagne.
“Umm … I’m not sure I’m in the right area.”
He took the boarding pass from my hand and gestured to a roomy chair that converted to a lay-flat bed. “This is it.”
“But this doesn’t look like economy.”
He smiled. “It’s definitely not.”
“I bought an economy ticket, though.”
“You probably got upgraded based on your status with the airline.”
I shook my head. “I don’t even have a frequent flier account.”
“Well, then someone likes you. Maybe the gate agent gave you a little present.” He shrugged. “However it happened, this is your seat. So relax and enjoy it.” He held up the flute again. “Would you like some champagne, or I can add a little orange juice and make a mimosa?”
“Ooh, I love mimosas.”
“Get settled in. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
My seating area was almost as spacious as my office, so I wasn’t going to complain about the upgrade for a long flight. Though I did wonder if the secret admirer responsible for this was Wilder and not the gate agent. Either way, I had work to do during the flight, so it would be nice to spread out and not have someone reading my laptop over my shoulder.
I settled in and took out my phone to switch to airplane mode. As I did, I noticed a missed text.
Josh: Hey. I know you probably hate me, but do you think we could talk? It won’t take long.
Ugh. That was not happening—definitely not on this trip. There was nothing left to say. He’d said it all at the altar. I slid the button to airplane mode and tucked my phone away for takeoff just in time to receive my mimosa.
A little while after we hit cruising altitude, the flight attendant served a delicious breakfast—complete with fresh fruit, entrée, warm croissant, and dessert. They even had sugar-free dessert options, not to mention another complimentary mimosa. This was definitely better than the cardboard-box meal I’d paid twelve bucks for on my last flight to Florida. While I spooned rich yet diabetic-friendly cheesecake into my mouth, I opened my laptop and called up the first submission to the wedding contest.
We’d received more than two thousand entries, so I’d enlisted a few of the other staff writers to help sort through them all. Now it was up to me to narrow down the finalists. When I’d decided to read through the essays on the plane, I hadn’t considered how emotional many of them would be. Some of the reasons people wanted a free wedding really tugged at the heartstrings—from being poor to suffering from depression and finally finding her soulmate. There was even a sixty-seven-year-old woman who had been married to a man who abused her for forty years. She’d finally left him and found true love.