Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Now, what did you want to talk about?” I ask nervously.
“I know I said I would give you ninety days,” she says, and I drop my plate, the food that’s in my mouth suddenly tasting like shit. “And I will,” she quickly adds, “but where are we going to live?”
“I have a house.” I don’t know why I have to tell her this. “So we are going to live in my house.”
“But I live in New York,” she retorts. “Like, my house is in New York. My things are there in the house.”
“Yeah, I assumed that when you said you live in New York.” I wink at her, earning me a sneer. “Can I ask you something?” I take another bite of the taco. “Why do you call New York home?”
“What?” she asks, not sure of my question.
“Why is New York your home? Besides the fact you have a house there with things in it.”
“I don’t know. It’s just home. I’ve always lived in New York.”
“You grew up in Long Island,” I point out.
“Yes, but I went to school in the city. It’s my home.” She motions with her hands going around in a circle.
“But what I’m saying is, there isn’t anything but your things in your house that keeps you there. Your office is there, but your office is in your home, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And you have no children that I know of.” She just stares at me. “So, technically, you can move into my home.”
“I can’t move to LA,” she gasps.
“Why not? It’s almost like New York. Overpopulated, traffic is horrible, and they have matcha at every single corner.” I grin. “It’s not like I live in Fargo. It’s LA.”
“Yes, but—” she says.
“Okay, how is this?” I look at her. “Move in with me for a month, and if you don’t like it, I’ll see about moving to the New York office.”
“That’s…” She shakes her head. “That’s crazy.”
“It’s the only solution to this talk, so if you don’t like LA, I’ll see about switching. If that can’t happen, I’ll commute.”
“You’ll commute from New York to LA?” She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you work in Manhattan, and we live in Brooklyn. It’s a six-hour flight.”
“Zoey.” I take a deep inhale. “If I have to do it, I’ll do it. I won’t like not being with you, and maybe you can come with me a couple of times.”
“You would fucking do that?” she questions, astounded. “Just like that, you would move to New York or commute?”
“Um, yeah,” I reply, not even sure it’s possible but knowing I’ll do what I need to do for my wife. If that’s either me switching offices or me fucking commuting, then that is what I’ll have to do. We may have only been together for one week, but it’s just cemented that she’s the one for me. And I’ll do what I need to do to make her happy. “You’re my wife. Happy wife, happy life.”
Seventeen
Zoey
“I can’t believe it’s the last day of the vacation,” I mumble from my side of the daybed, turning to Zara, who sits up. “Where are you going?”
“In the water.” She points at the ocean. “The kids are finally out.” She looks over to see the little kids all in the sand, building something or another. “Let’s go.”
“Okay.” I get up, looking around to see if I spot Nash. He went off with Caine not long ago, and now I see him sitting with my father. I have to wonder if he’s there because he wants to be there or because he has no choice.
I follow Zara, the soft waves hitting my legs as I walk deeper into the water. “I’m going to miss this.”
“You’ve been drunk for two weeks,” I remind her, and she shakes her head.
“I’ve not once gone to bed drunk.” She holds up her hand, smiling. “It’s called day drinking, and it’s about moderation, Zoey.”
I laugh and duck myself into the warm water. “Why didn’t Daniel come?” I ask about her fiancé.
“He couldn’t get off work,” she says. “He’s been working on this huge deal for two months now.” I look at her. “Anyway, let’s talk about something more interesting than me. Let’s talk about the hubby.” She avoids talking about Daniel this time, and I let it go. Since she is wearing her glasses, I can’t even see if something is bothering her. “What’s going on with that?”
“Nothing.” I extend my hands to the sides, moving them in the water. “I’m going to move in with him for thirty days and see how I like it.”
“But how are things at this minute? Like, do you like him?”
“We’re on vacation,” I point out.
She throws her head back and laughs. “It’s your honeymoon.”
“Whatever it is. Of course things are good. Everything is chill. We drink, we eat, we laugh.”