Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
I wrote all that down too. “So, it’s obvious.” I looked at him now. “You want something very relaxed and informal, and I think we should let that inform your venue choice. Did you have somewhere in mind?”
“Actually my aunt offered her place in the Hamptons for the party. It’s right on the beach, and I think that might play really well into a cookout.”
My little event-planner heart jumped with glee. All the pieces were coming together beautifully and easily. I wished every client were like Chris. For more reasons than one. “It sounds perfect. Not to come across as too forward, but I’d need to see it to understand the space so I can plan appropriately.”
“Of course. How about a weekend soon? I’ll take you out there myself.”
Ignoring the answering flutter in my stomach, I tried to nod coolly.
Suddenly I remembered the imaginary conversation I’d recited over and over in my head as I’d walked here. The one I needed to have with him before our lunch went any further.
The server returned with our drinks and to take our order. Once he departed again, I jumped right into it. “I hate to bring this up, but I really feel like I must because I’m a little confused by how easily I’ve been forgiven.”
Chris’s brows drew together. “The videos?”
“It’s not something I really want to remind you of, but I do feel like we breezed past it at the party, and I wanted the chance to fully explain myself.”
“Okay.” He relaxed back in his chair and waited.
“I was . . .” I halted because I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t get too personal. “There were, are”—No, don’t let him think you’re too distracted by your personal stuff to work on his party—“were things going on in my life at that time and . . . Jesus, this is going to sound so cheesy.”
“I can handle cheesy,” he teased.
Why was he so damn nice? My heart fluttered.
“At first your videos really drew me in because of the whole fascinating astronaut-in-space thing.”
Chris nodded like he understood.
“And I know I should have stopped watching as soon as I realized these were personal videos for Darcy.” I lowered my gaze and took a minute to draw up the courage to meet his eyes again. I did. Immediately I was snared in them, my breath hitching a little. What the hell was that? I pushed past the overwhelming feeling. “But you talked a lot about things I worry about, things I thought no one else was thinking about or philosophizing over, and I just really appreciated your viewpoint. Not just because you have a wisdom beyond your years, but because you have such a distinctive and rare perspective on the world because of your unique experiences. I know it’s not a good excuse for invading your privacy, but I found solace in your videos, and while I’m sorry for watching them when I shouldn’t have, I also want to thank you.”
My pulse felt like an animal beating in my neck to get out. My palms were slick.
Eyes shining, Chris let me out of my misery by inclining his head. “I forgive you. And you’re welcome. I know that feeling and, though it wasn’t my intention, I’m humbled that you got something worthwhile from watching them.”
Nicest. Guy. Ever.
I was so in trouble with this one.
“Thank you for being so gracious.” I exhaled, trying to relax.
Humor flashed in his eyes, but he saved me with a subject change. “So I’ll call Aunt Richelle and, uh, ask her which upcoming weekend works for her for you to see the place.”
“That would be great. So your aunt Richelle? Paternal or maternal?”
“Maternal. She was my mom’s younger sister. She’s an artist, and despite being so much younger, she really stepped up to be there for me and my brother when my mother died.”
Shit, why did I bring this up? Stupid, stupid. “I’m so sorry about your mother. And your brother. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t—”
“It’s fine,” he cut me off with a small, humorless smile. “Everyone skirts around people’s losses like loss is contagious and they don’t want to get infected. Ever notice that?”
“Yes. However, I don’t think it’s entirely for selfish reasons. I know I always worry that I might cause a person unnecessary pain by bringing up the subject of a lost loved one.”
Chris considered that. “I want to talk about them. There are people in my life who don’t want to talk about them, and it’s frustrating.”
“I can imagine that would be extremely frustrating.” I wondered which people he referred to. His father, perhaps? “Well . . . you can talk to me about them anytime.” I rolled my eyes inwardly at myself. Sure, Chris Ortiz was going to choose me to confide in.