Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I slip on the nude slingback heels, smoothing my dress again over my hips. I had to run home today to get this outfit as I had not brought any dressy clothes with me when I made this semi-permanent move into Foster and Bowie Jane’s house. My mom helped me go through the handful of dresses I own, and we unanimously agreed on this one. It’s sufficient for the fancy restaurant Foster alluded to and has just enough sex appeal without being overt. I want to convey how much I’ve been looking forward to this date.
Because I have.
Honestly, I didn’t have to really think about my answer after he asked. It didn’t take me long to process the fact that he’d talked to Bowie Jane about it and she was not bothered in the slightest.
In fact, I’d learned this week just how excited she was by the prospect of me and her dad going out on a date. She has totally romanticized it, even though I’ve played it cool, telling her that her dad and I are friends and we’re just having dinner together. We may end up being nothing more than friends. I want to temper her expectations somewhat but the fact she’s happy about it is what truly matters.
Or so I thought.
My mom did have to throw a bit of a wet blanket on the situation as I was trying on dresses. “I know you said that Foster talked to Bowie Jane about it and you’ve said this week she’s been excited about you two going on a date, but don’t you think that could be her manifesting some idealistic fantasies because of her mom being bankrupt from her life?”
That was a whole lot of words for one simple question, but it was an important one… is Bowie Jane substituting me for her mom?
It’s hard to know. She’s happy not to be in Singapore, thrilled to be living with her dad, but she still loves her mother very much. Misses her even more. The only thing that has made me feel marginally better is that Sandra actually FaceTimed Bowie Jane twice this week. She’s twelve hours ahead of us so she was up at seven a.m. her time to be able to talk with Bowie Jane at seven p.m.
I was surprised when Sandra texted me to ask about the best time to reach her daughter and I knew the time difference could be an issue. We decided seven would be best as she would be finished with homework, dinner and her bath by then.
Those two calls went moderately well. Sandra was alone on FaceTime, although Chet could have certainly been in the room. But it felt like Sandra was truly present with Bowie Jane, asking her all kinds of questions about school and her friends. She didn’t talk about Singapore or make a big deal about her work there. I’d say Sandra truly focused on her daughter and I can tell Bowie Jane reacted positively to that interaction.
Bottom line… I had to tell my mom, “I’m really not sure if she’s considering me a substitute.”
Placing her hand on my shoulder, she said, “Just be careful with that little girl. She’s had a lot of upheaval in her life.”
That right there had me reconsidering the date but as this week progressed—Foster completed the two-game road trip and then had a home game Friday against the New Jersey Wildcats—our impending date wasn’t much of a subject of discussion anymore. Bowie Jane is doing her first overnight at a school friend’s house, and that became infinitely more exciting than me and her dad going out for dinner.
In fact, Foster drove her over there and should be back any moment now. I do another quick perusal in the mirror and fluff out the waves I put in my hair with a curling wand. This is as good as it gets for Mazzy Archer.
There’s a gentle knock at my bedroom door and my pulse ratchets up a notch. “It’s open,” I say, my voice betraying a hint of excitement as I close the closet door.
Foster steps in, his presence filling the room. He’s dressed in a sleek, navy blue suit that outlines his athletic build, the fabric glinting under the lamplight, suggesting a subtle pinstripe. His hair is styled—not sleek, but the longish waves on top have a bit of form to them. Mostly, I’m stunned that he shaved the thick stubble and if I thought he was hot before with that scruff, the undeniable beauty of his bare face leaves me a little speechless.
I manage to mutter, “We’re both wearing navy.”
Foster doesn’t seem to hear me because he’s busy letting his gaze roam over my body. Not in a lecherous way, but in true appreciation for what he sees. “There’s no way you’re changing out of that, so if it bothers you we’re wearing the same color, I’ll go change.”