Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
But at the end of the day, I’m still in a state of repair—much like this house—and I’m bad at love—much like that Halsey song. Not that I love Lachlan. But I have a tendency to put the cart before the horse when it comes to men. I get my hopes up. I trust too easily. I only see the good until the bad is staring me in the face, smacking me over the head with a hard dose of reality.
I don’t want to be her anymore.
I fling off my comforter, head downstairs to make a cup of chamomile, and grab my laptop from the study before curling up on the sofa under some dim lamplight. If I can’t sleep, I might as well be productive.
I fire off a handful of quick emails before checking my schedule for next week. I’m due to present names to a Californian influencer couple who is requesting female monikers that are earthy and organic. I pull up their Instagram page, where every curated picture is filtered in dreamy creams and soft tans and pale-blue skies. Their matching bleached hair and surfer-chic vibe are further complemented by their brilliant smiles and heavenly beachside backdrops.
I wonder if they’re as happy as they look.
I wonder if anyone’s as happy as they look . . .
I spend a few more minutes on their social media page, zooming in and out on an image of the two of them doing child’s pose on matching yoga mats. And then I open a blank Word doc, brainstorming the first names that come to mind: Honey, Saffron, Goldie, Luna, Maple, Soleil, Sunny, Briar, Dove, Indigo.
Next, I pair each name with their last name, Hendrix, narrowing down the contesters to Honey, Goldie, Sunny, Dove, and Indigo.
I place asterisks next to my top three: Honey, Dove, and Indigo.
The creak of a stair interrupts me from my flow, and I glance across the hallway, past the foyer, and toward the bottom of the steps, where Lachlan fills the darkness.
“Can’t sleep either?” I ask.
He steps closer, until the lamplight highlights his V-neck T-shirt and low-slung sweats, and he brushes his messy hair from his forehead.
“Yeah. It’s weird having all that bed to myself again,” he teases before taking a seat in the armchair beside me. “I don’t know what to do without someone kneeing me in the kidney every five minutes.”
I roll my eyes, grateful that after last night’s talk, we can keep our playful banter. It’s actually the highlight of my day sometimes. Everything aside, there’s no denying the man knows how to put a smile on my face.
Whatever happens after this, and once we go our separate ways, I’m going to miss that.
“What do you think of the name Indigo Hendrix?” I ask.
“You’re asking the wrong person.”
“A simple yea or nay will suffice.”
“Nay,” he says. Though I couldn’t disagree more. I think it sounds like exactly the kind of thing Santa Cruz residents Talon and Shalom Hendrix would adore.
“What about Dove Hendrix?” I ask. “Or Honey Hendrix?”
“Are these names for a real human or a dog?”
“Who would name a dog Dove?”
“Who would name their kid Dove?” He answers my question with one of his own. “I met a girl named Sunday once. Asked her if that was her real name, and she said it was. Her parents chose it because to them, Sunday was the day of peace and serenity, and that’s what she represented. Anyway, I always thought it was a badass name. She even looked like a Sunday, if that makes sense. Guess she grew into her name.”
“Sunday Hendrix,” I say out loud, “Sunday Hendrix . . . that actually works.”
It doesn’t have my mismatched syllables, but it begins and ends with the same sound, and it fits their whole carefree-surfer-vibe persona. Indigo could easily slide in there as the middle name; then all three names would share the d sound.
“Congratulations, Lachlan. I think you may have just named someone’s baby.” I type the name into my document and put three asterisks next to it. Closing my laptop, I place it on the coffee table and adjust my posture toward him. “So what really has you up tonight?”
His lips twist at one side as he stares at the lifeless fireplace on the other side of the room.
“I talked to my attorney today,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Things are moving quicker than he expected with opening the estate,” he says. “He’s thinking sometime in the next couple weeks.”
“I thought he said it could take months?”
“He did,” he says. “Are you still planning on filing that claim?”
“Depends. Are you still planning to burn the place down?”
He rakes his hand along his jaw before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Once everything goes through, I should be able to access that bank account. I plan on giving you everything in it, down to the last penny.”