Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Yeah, and what’s this?” he asks, waving the image like it’s a smoking gun.
“Throws I thought I might buy for the beach.”
“You’re going to buy specific blankets? You can’t use what’s at the house? Or maybe ask people to bring their own?”
“But then the colors might not go together.”
He doesn’t respond, but he looks at me like he’s examining an exhibit in a museum. “The colors of the blankets. You think Katherine wants them to match?”
“Not match, but blend. Otherwise, the pictures we take won’t . . . They won’t be . . .”
“Don’t say ‘perfect,’” Hunter says. “Because if you do, I’m picking you up, tucking you under my arm, and taking you to the nearest hospital for a psych evaluation.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Me?” he says, pulling more papers from the box and dumping them onto his coffee table. “I’m the dramatic one? How long have you been planning this party?”
“What?” I say defensively. “Not long.”
He stares, daring me to confess.
“Just a few weeks,” I say in a small voice. If no one can hear me, it’s not technically lying.
“Liar,” he says.
“What? It’s just a few weeks.”
“Which brand of marshmallows have you selected for toasting?” he asks. But he doesn’t wait for a response. “Don’t deny you’ve researched it.”
“I have plausible deniability,” I say. “Why would I pick out the brand when I don’t know what will be available at the store?”
“You’d never source them locally,” he says. I feel like he’s reached inside my brain and seen every thought. He’s right. I’d never leave such a critical detail to chance.
I don’t say anything, because what’s the point? He’ll only tell me I’m a liar. And he’d be right. But it’s weird. I’ve never been called out on my attention to detail before. Certainly never been teased about it. Quite the opposite. Growing up in Katherine’s shadow, I was always seen as the messy one. Never prepared, never right, next to Katherine’s always-prepared, always-perfect self.
“Are you only like this because it’s Katherine’s bachelorette, or is this you all the time?” He starts to chuckle. “Don’t answer that. I know that answer. I bet you were the reason the line at Stranger than Fiction came to a standstill the other day. First of all, you had to decide on your order, and then I bet they had to make it specially.”
I sigh. I didn’t come here to be picked apart. I can do that to myself easily enough. We’ve got the house. The rest I can do by myself. Katherine didn’t say anything about having to travel together.
“Why don’t you plan the meal the night we arrive? I’ll do Saturday,” I say. “You can arrange the guys’ transport. I’ll do it for us girls. Then we don’t need to plan together. You can be free of me.” I pull my mouth into a forced smile and stand, shunting the papers on the coffee table back into the box.
“You’re mad. I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.”
“You don’t need to try,” I say, sliding the lid onto the box. There’s no fight left in my tone. I can’t even be bothered to take offense.
“I’m sorry,” he says, picking up the box for me. “It wasn’t a criticism.”
“Sure.” I’ve had a barrage of insults and criticism from Hunter since we met. And I’m done. He’s cutting a little too close to the bone. The exhaustion I felt when I first arrived washes back over me in a wave. “Thanks for organizing the house. It really looks wonderful,” I say.
“Are you sure you want to leave? We can plan meals and transportation together. It doesn’t have to be separated by gender, especially since a lot of the guests are couples traveling together.”
“We can email to coordinate.”
Something flashes up on the TV, and we both turn to look. It’s a FaceTime call coming through. Somehow his cell has connected with the TV. Hunter pulls out his phone, but we’ve both seen that it isn’t his mom calling. It’s someone called Debbie, who has red lips and cleavage the size and depth of the Grand Canyon.
Just as I thought: Hunter’s a player. And a liar. And he’s happy for me to do all the grunt work while he gets kudos for snagging the house. In fairness, it is a really nice house. In the end, that’s all I needed from him. I can do the rest myself, while Hunter can do whatever it is he’s doing with Debbie.
“You should get that.” I nod toward the screen. “Looks like Mom really wants to chat.”
“That’s not my mom, silly. That’s my great-aunt Deborah,” he says on a laugh. Not even he thinks I’m falling for that one.
I have the urge to take a shower. God knows what I’ve picked up being in his apartment for as long as I have. I head toward the door, and Hunter follows, carrying my box. “I’ll bring it down and put it in the cab for you.” He’s trying to be nice, but despite finding the Vineyard house, I’ve seen who he is.