Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
It takes a beat for me to realize she noticed earlier that I must have been wondering. It takes only a second more for me to realize she must notice everything.
22
A LITTLE CAVEMAN
Elodie
Sticks and Stones closes at midnight, so the place is still bustling when we grab a booth in the far back, past the pool and Ping-Pong tables. In seconds, a woman with a pixie cut arrives to take our order.
“Rosemary fries and a chicken sandwich with sriracha times two,” she says after we place it. “Aren’t you two lovebirds the cutest?”
Gage startles for a second. Then he adjusts, adding a mostly genuine smile. Ohhh. His employees don’t know this is fake, of course, but he’s still adjusting to people assuming we’re a couple. He drags a hand through his hair, a sign he’s a little stressed, but I hope she doesn’t know his tells like I do. “Yup. We both just have good taste,” he says to her.
“We do,” I second, then she heads off. When she’s gone, I ask, just to be sure, “She doesn’t know?”
“Nope. And I feel bad lying.”
“I get that.”
“Well, except to Sebastian,” he says with a growl.
I still feel like I need to take a shower because of that guy. But I want to deal with the tension between Gage and me first. I can’t let it take up so much real estate. I’ve been noodling on his we good comment since this afternoon. I didn’t want to get into it then. I do now, especially after the awkward moments between us tonight, the uncertainty in how we spoke to each other.
But before I can even begin, he takes over with, “Elodie, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you earlier.”
His tone is laced with regret. But I don’t know exactly what he’s talking about. “What do you mean?” I ask carefully.
He rakes his hand through his thick hair a second time, messy at this late hour, unkempt and a little wild. A lot sexy. “You were worried you didn’t have enough chocolate, and I made it seem like your concerns were nothing. I was only focused on me. And Celeste. And then I didn’t even know how to handle her. You saved me with the sparkling water. Thank you. I was in a big hole there. Felt like I was on the mound with the bases loaded.”
I can’t help it. I smile. “Is this where I’m the catcher again?”
He leans back in the booth, a little chagrined but also owning his sports speak. “You can take the man out of the baseball game, but I guess you can’t take the baseball out of the man.”
“We helped each other,” I say. “I was seriously grateful for your save with the chocolate race. That was amazing.”
“But I should have listened to you sooner,” he says, like he’s beating himself up over this. “I was obsessed with Celeste and the location. I can get a little single-minded.”
He’s so self-aware, it’s refreshing. “I noticed,” I say softly, exonerating him. “And I understand.”
The other day when he shut down after he touched me, I was hurt. I felt as if I’d made myself vulnerable because, well, sex is vulnerable. A few days later, with time and reflection, I could see where he was coming from—he’s banking on the exposure this shop can bring. Me too. “And look, I foolishly thought opening this pop-up would solve everything.”
He looks confused. “You don’t think it’s helping?”
“I absolutely think it is and it will,” I say, assuring him. “Tonight was a great start. But I suppose I thought it being an overnight sensation would mean I could pay off the loan like that.” I snap my fingers. I picture my banking app on my phone, the payments I still need to make. I’m getting closer. But I’m not there yet. “It’ll take more than one great night though. More than the buzz we got. And Special Edition is not a magic bullet. There will always be more bills, so I understand why you said we can’t do this again. We don’t want to mess up our partnership.”
“I said it at the wrong time though. In the wrong way. I should have…” But when he trails off it’s clear he doesn’t know how he should have delivered that truth bomb.
I don’t either.
He takes a breath, scrubbing a hand over his jaw, then locks those sinful eyes with mine. “Here’s the thing. I couldn’t get you out of my head when I first met you. It’s still that way,” he says, reaching for my hand, like he often does. The man is so tactile. Touch is his love language. He’s always putting a hand on my arm, or wrapping one around me, or squeezing my palm. “But I’m terrible at making it all work. I don’t know how to do this and everything else. That’s why I kind of went cold the other day.”