Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
His phone rang once during dinner, and then again, just as he finished the last slice of the pizza.
I was reluctant to try it at first, so he said he’d dive in. He promised to give me his honest opinion.
I could tell by the smile on his face that he liked it, so I took a small bite.
Surprisingly, it was better than I imagined, but I won’t order it again.
I still have no idea if Arietta genuinely likes hot dogs on her pizza, or if she was playing a joke on me.
I highly doubt it was the latter. Unlike my boss and me, I doubt my roommate could pull off a straight-faced lie if her life depended on it. I’ve been trying to bring up the Newmans’ anniversary party all evening, but I haven’t found a way to do that, and now I don’t think I’ll have the chance.
Keats lowered his voice when he took the call. Once he said hello, and the person on the other end responded, Keats was on his feet, pacing a circle on the worn carpet near the entrance to the kitchen.
He’s just out of my earshot, so I have no idea if it’s a personal call or a business matter. Whatever it is, it looks like bad news.
Keats bobs his head up and down as he makes eye contact with me. There’s no smile, just an acknowledgment that he knows I’m here waiting for him.
He pats our server on the shoulder as the young man passes him by.
It’s those little things that tell you so much about a person. You can gauge the goodness that sits inside a person’s soul by the way they treat others.
Once the call ends, he walks toward me. His eyes are downcast. Whatever that discussion was about, it didn’t involve good news.
“I need to go,” he says as soon as he’s next to where I’m seated.
I watch as he pulls out his wallet and drops some bills on the table. It’s triple the cost of the pizza and beers.
I push to stand. “Is it your niece? Or your brother? Is everyone okay?”
I know he has a sister. I have no idea if his parents are alive or in his life. Maybe this isn’t related to his family. It could be about a friend or one of the athletes he represents.
“One of my clients was injured during training camp.” He scrubs his hand over the back of his neck. “His family is in Germany, so I’m his go-to.”
“Of course,” I whisper. “Is it serious?”
“Serious enough to sideline him for a couple of months.”
I move when he does. He steps to the left, so I round the table. “I’ll go to the hospital with you. I don’t know him, but I’m great at food runs and sitting in waiting rooms.”
Keats turns to me. Concern is set in his expression. “You’d do that?”
Without hesitation, I nod. “Let’s go.”
He drops his head. “He’s in Philadelphia, Maren.”
I should be relieved by that, but a wave of disappointment washes over me. This isn’t a real dinner date, but I wanted more time. I would have taken it even if it meant pacing a hospital corridor by his side.
“Do you want me to make the travel arrangements while you pack?”
He glances at me. “That would help me tremendously. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, so I want to swing by my brother’s place to say goodbye to him and Stevie.”
“I’ll book the flight, a hotel, and arrange for a driver to pick you up at the airport,” I recite my list aloud. “Is there anything else?”
“Let me walk you home.”
It’s already getting late for an eight-year-old. I’m sure his niece has a set bedtime, and I don’t want to interfere with that.
“Why don’t you go see Stevie?” I suggest. “The quicker you get there, the more time you’ll have with her before she goes to sleep.”
His gaze lingers on my face while silence sits between us. “That’s the smart thing to do.”
I nod in agreement. “You should get going.”
He motions for me to lead the way out of the restaurant. “I’ll write up a statement on the plane to release to the media. The team will too, but the more reassurance the fans have, the better.”
Once we’re on the sidewalk with the cooling evening air floating over us, I turn to him. “I hope he’ll recover quickly.”
“Me too.” He shoves both of his hands in the front pocket of his pants. “Thanks for having dinner with me, Maren.”
I’d tell him it was my pleasure, but the meaning feels too literal. Sitting across from him for an hour was fun. “I’ll text you the travel details as soon as I book them.”
“I’ll be waiting to hear from you,” he says as he turns to walk away.