Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Rebecca starts to say something but reconsiders.
“I’m just thankful I’m home in Kismet Beach right now and not in Orlando,” I say. “The rest is water under the bridge at this point.”
“I don’t know how you stayed away from here for so long. You were gone almost a year. Do you realize that?”
Of course, I realize that. I felt it every day.
Rebecca grins. “Let’s steer this conversation away from Duloc.”
I snort.
“Are you sure you want to go on your honeymoon?” Rebecca asks carefully. “You were pretty against it last night, and now you’ve made a one-eighty—which you’re allowed to do. I just want to make sure you’re not going to get to the Bahamas and start overthinking how you planned the whole thing for you and Eton …”
“Becca.” I lower my chin as I watch her over the table. “While I’ll admit I’ve been one to overthink a little—”
“A little?”
“Or a moderate amount. Either way, I sat back and let Eton dictate the past two years of my life. I thought the year of dating long-distance was just rough because of the miles and that the engagement would change things. But the past eight months of living in Orlando …” I scoff. “I walked around on eggshells more and more until I was a shell of myself. And I’m not letting the man who called my travel agency a gold-digger’s hobby to pass time hover over any of my decisions.”
She tilts her head, side-eyeing me. “So this doesn’t have anything to do with that book you were reading last night?”
“Ha. No.”
“It is titled Intimacy with Strangers,” she teases me.
“You know,” I say, setting my glass down. “You should think about reading my book when I’m done. It might help you relax a little.”
“I don’t need a book written by some smarmy dude on the back cover with a smile that reminds me of a serial killer just before he turns to the dark side to tell me how to have intimacy with strangers.” She laughs, her eyes going wide. “Oh, my gosh! I get it. That’s how they do it.”
I furrow my brow. “Who are they, and what do they do?”
“Serial killers. They write books angled toward people feeling emotionally fragile and convince them that being intimate with a stranger is somehow healing—”
“The book is not even about sex.”
She lifts her glass, her lips pressed together to hide her smile. “At least make the strangers wear condoms and keep your tracking turned on so we can find your body.”
I wad my napkin and throw it at her. She ducks, missing it easily, and then plucks it off the ledge behind her.
“All joking aside,” I say, our laughter fading. “I have an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“You should come to the Bahamas with me.”
I nibble my bottom lip and wait for her response. It’s a shot in the dark, I know, but I’m willing to try.
Rebecca doesn’t travel much. She’ll go on trips here and there with me and our friend Sara, but she’s much more of a homebody than we are. I used to think it was because of finances. But Sara and I always offer to pay, thanks to my inheritance from my father and Sara’s kick-ass job. Now I’m not sure.
“Ash, I can’t. I wish I could. I just paid my rent, and I need to stay home and get my money’s worth.”
“Well, I’ve stayed with you for ten days, and I might be there a while longer. So let me pay the rent this month and—”
“No. That’s not an option.”
The look she gives me tells me that she’s digging her heels in, as expected.
I march on.
“It’s an all-expenses-paid trip,” I say. “I’ll cover the plane ticket because you’d be doing me a favor by going so I don’t have to go alone.”
She sighs. “Honestly, I’m trying to hoard money. My lease is up in a couple of months, and I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I’ve been thinking about going home to Texas.”
I raise a brow but don’t say anything.
“It’s the adult decision to stay here and put away some cash. No one is going to come adult my life for me,” she says.
Rebecca has mentioned returning to Texas a time or two over the past few months. She seems to have a love/hate relationship with it, and I’m not sure why. I know she left and lived in Indiana for a while before making her way down here a few years ago. I don’t pressure her; she closes like a clam. I show my support and give her space as she does me when I need it.
“Okay. I get it. But the option is on the table if you change your mind,” I say.
“I appreciate it.”
“What do you appreciate?” Sara slides into the booth beside Rebecca, her bracelets jingling against the table. “Sorry, I’m late. The traffic on Beachfront Boulevard is wild tonight.”