Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75424 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75424 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“It’s the only five-star property in town,” I say, her obvious delight making the twelve-hundred-dollar-a-night price tag worth every penny. “Only the best for you, Feisty.”
She takes my hand and squeezes it tight. “You didn’t have to go all out like this, but…” She lets out a happy squeak. “I’m glad you did. I’m never going to forget a second of this trip.” She sighs happily as her gaze flicks back and forth across the horizon. “It’s so beautiful. I’m going to burn this view into my brain so I can do a watercolor when I get home.”
“I’d like a picture of that when you’re done.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll do an original watercolor for you, too. It’s the least I can do,” she says, her eyes wide as she soaks in the scene with an appreciation that makes me appreciate it even more.
That’s one of Evie’s many gifts. She sees the beauty in so many things, and she makes sure you see it, too.
“Remember that summer you kept borrowing my phone to take pictures of the bugs in your backyard?” I ask. “And begged me to print them out on the good printer at my house?”
“Yes,” she says, casting a fond look my way. “You were very patient, as always, but not nearly as impressed with my bug paper dolls as you should have been. I mean, they had tiny bug ball gowns and tuxedos and everything.”
“I was a stupid teenage boy. I’m sure I’d appreciate their brilliance more now. But even back then, I was impressed. You made me look at bugs differently, see how alien and cool they were. I still think of you every time a roach crawls across my toe while I’m waiting for the subway.”
She laughs. “Oh, good. And you’re welcome. That’s the magic of art. It makes you see things differently, feel things differently.”
I almost tell her that she makes me feel things differently and that I increasingly want to share those feelings with her first, before anyone else. But I keep my mouth shut.
That kind of talk is only going to make it harder to say goodbye.
I still can’t believe I’m leaving the East Coast. I’ve spent my whole life and career here. There were times when I was tempted by the thought of changing teams, changing scenery, but my family and friends are all here. And Mom would have killed me if I’d transferred to Arizona because I thought it would be cool to live near a desert for a while.
The thought makes my ribs clench.
I guess I must make a face or something, too, because Evie asks in a concerned voice, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a tight smile. “Just thinking about my mom. She’s going to be sad. I know she’ll understand, but she’s always been so happy that all her kids settled close to home.”
Evie releases my hand to press her palm to my face. “She will understand. And you’ll come back to visit all the time.”
“But it won’t be the same.”
“No,” Evie admits, her hand dropping back into her lap, “but that’s okay. Change is part of life and it’s unavoidable in your current situation. Either you’re going to change teams so you can work with people who share your values, or this team is going to change you. And probably not for the better.”
I cast a narrow look her way as we approach the circular drive in front of the hotel. “How did you get so smart?”
She arches a wry brow. “I watched you have a shouting match with your teammates this afternoon, Ian. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to see that they aren’t bringing out the best in you.”
“No, they aren’t,” I say as I brake in front of the valet station. “But you do.”
Her smile is shy, but her eyes burn brightly into mine as she whispers, “Ditto.”
Before I can say anything else, a man with a handlebar moustache and a notepad in hand appears at the driver’s side window. “Checking in with us?” he asks, giving the car an appreciative once-over.
“Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins,” I say, giving the fake names I used to book the reservation. The man welcomes us, hands me a ticket, and assures me our bags will be waiting in our room by the time we’ve finished check-in.
I circle around the back of the car, taking Evie’s hand as the valet pulls away from the curb. “Ready?”
“To pretend to be your wife?” she whispers with a soft laugh. “Um, no. I’ve never been in a serious relationship, let alone a marriage.”
I shrug. “Sure, you have. You and your roomies are in serious relationships.”
“That’s different,” she says, her fingers tightening on mine as we start toward the large, rotating doors leading into the lobby.
“Not really. A husband or wife is just a best friend you like to bang, right?” I pause as we push through the doors, lowering my voice as we emerge into the lobby on the other side. “And the way you look at me makes it obvious how much you want to ride my pony, Mrs. Jenkins.”