Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Sounds like it cost him something to say that. Looks like it did too. My heart softens, and a part of me—the part of me that’s taking up a lot more space lately—wants to plan all the dates for us.
Wants to find that glow-in-the-dark paint and pottery shop.
Is chomping at the bit to plot a risqué night of sex toy shopping.
Craves planning a simple night out at a bird supply store to check out feeders and baths, then take him to a cat café. He’d like that, I bet. All of it.
But I have to rein in all those desires. Silly, pointless desires that have no place here. It’s only been a month and a half since I thought I was being proposed to. This thing with Lake is fake. It’s a rebound by design. It has an end date that’s coming right around the corner on the calendar.
I want to show you how you should be treated. Before, during, and after a relationship. I want to be the best rebound you’ve ever had.
With that reminder, I squeeze his biceps. “Me too. I had a great time,” I say, and that’s all true. Nothing fake there.
He drops me off, and I rub my knuckles against my sternum, trying to relieve the pressure. It feels a little hollow as I watch him drive away.
After I unzip my suitcase and put everything away in record time, I check the hummingbird feeder and quickly freshen up the sugar water. Like it was waiting for a drink, a tiny greenish-gray bird appears, wings flapping, beak drinking.
I sneak a picture. I’ll send it to Lake later. For now, I need to catch the next bus to Alamo Square Park.
Caroline’s doing a final walk-through of one of the Painted Ladies, which has a gorgeous backyard garden area for her non-traditional shower.
On the bus ride, I flip open my World Domination notebook and turn to the page I’ve marked for a new client—a self-proclaimed video game nerd who wants me to help plan a proposal involving games. I tap my pen against my chin, wondering if I could involve the puzzle store Lake and I go to.
I stare out the window at the hills and the homes, picturing a date. A latte, a Golden Gate Bridge puzzle, a list.
And…shoot.
I’m daydreaming about Lake. Again.
I snap out of it, but I’m already at my stop. I close the notebook and hop off the bus. There will be time to deal with it later. I trot over to the pink house, following Caroline’s orders to head to the backyard.
I rap on the wooden gate on the side of the house as my sister groans a loud and irritated: “Are you kidding me?”
The gate’s unlocked so I push open the door, and walk along the side of the house and into the yard, dotted with outdoor furniture and minimalist landscaping.
Caroline shoves a manicured hand through her lush blowout, heaving a frustrated sigh. My mother’s here, dressed impeccably in a cranberry silky blouse and designer jeans, and she’s talking to someone I don’t know—a man in a blue shirt that gives off caretaker vibes.
“There’s really nothing to be done?” my mother asks.
“It’s going to take a few days to fix this,” the man tells her, his voice calm, making it clear that this isn’t his first irritated client rodeo.
Caroline’s jaw is set tight, and she paces across the stone path. “Isn’t there any plumber that can fix this sooner?”
“We can’t get anyone out till tomorrow,” he says.
I stride over, ready to help however I can, though with the two of them at the helm, I’m not sure what I could contribute. I don’t know any plumbers who’d show up at the drop of a hat.
“What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my tone calm, trying to soothe Caroline since I can at least do that.
She whips around, her frustration transforming into the threat of tears. “A pipe burst inside,” she says, her voice wobbly. “We can’t have the shower here tomorrow since there’s no bathroom.”
That would be a big problem. “What about your place?”
“There isn’t enough room for the guests and the camera crew,” she says, and my jaw ticks at the mention of the crew.
“We need another venue,” my mother says, calmly. “Someplace that can handle twenty-five guests and catering and the cameras for Fresh Face.”
Part of me wants to punch Fresh Face in the mouth, if it had one, but I set that wish aside as Caroline and my mom toss out options. The Happy Cow isn’t big enough, Parker’s parents’ home is too far away, and Caroline’s favorite bistro with the garden is booked, because of course it’s booked.
But as they talk, I’m mentally filling in the spreadsheet for the event, adding a cell here, a row there, adding it up, then sending a text to Lake.