Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
He took a sip of his coffee, then promptly spat it back into the cup. People eyeballed us from every corner of the diner, the silence humming in the air violently. “What the fuck is this, tar? Don’t worry.” He leaned back, glancing at the onlookers. “I’ll make sure we open Starbucks, Costa, and Peet’s here.”
Dahlia gasped, clutching her chest.
“And, you.” Tate slipped out of the booth, staring me down. He didn’t wait for our food. “Sign the damn contract. If I have to come here a second time to give you a nudge, I won’t be so fucking nice about it.” He plucked his coat from the back of the booth, turned toward the door, and disappeared.
ROW
McMonster is typing…
McMonster is deleting…
McMonster is typing…
McMonster is deleting…
ROW
When I returned to the inn, the first thing I did was throw doors and windows open, calling Cal’s name. She should have been back from her errands by now. I flung the duvet off the bed and tossed the closet doors open. Nada. I rummaged in my front pocket for my phone, and when I found it, I realized there was a note sitting on the nightstand, glowing under the buttery light of the lamp. Pocketing my phone, I advanced toward the note, ripping it from the wooden surface, my heart somersaulting, landing wrong, and breaking every fucking bone in its body.
Row,
Meet me at the back of the parking lot.
—Dot
I grabbed my key card and took the stairs two at a time, wondering if I was too late, if I had missed her. It was a fucked-up train of thought. I’d wait an entire lifetime and some change for Cal, no questions asked. Then why was I so worried she wouldn’t reciprocate it?
Because she is the loveliest, flightiest person you’ve ever met. Because Franco broke her, and now that you are gluing back the pieces, you see that some of them are missing. Shattered beyond repair.
Looping around the wooden stairway, I pounded the carpeted floor to the back of the inn, passing golden-framed pastel paintings, arched rooms, and striped wallpaper. Admittedly, it was a lovely inn. I could see why people loathed me for running it out of business with the monstrous hotel that was going to open in this town.
“See you later, Mr. Rogers,” I called out to the receptionist.
“Eat shit, asshole,” he greeted back.
Undeterred, I pushed the back door open, spilling out to the small parking lot. It was completely empty, save for a red, unfamiliar black Mustang. My pulse shallowed, and I growled in disappointment, eyes skimming the immaculate bushes surrounding the empty lot. I looked down to take out my phone when a horn blared in my vicinity. Cal’s head popped up from the driver’s seat of the Mustang. Her grin was so wide, you could have fit a banana horizontally into her mouth.
“Get in, pretty boy.” She blinked five, six, seven times. Fast enough to show me she was nervous.
I grinned, gliding her way while expertly flipping the key card between my fingers. “What are you wearing, Dot?”
“Not much, and it’s about to be taken off very soon.” She adjusted the horrid, yellow plaid jacket with one hand. “Now get in. I managed to rent this thing on an hourly basis and I really want to bring it back before the beginning of our shift.”
“Romantic.” I slid into the passenger seat, staring at her with what must have been the goofiest, stupidest smirk to ever grace my face. “I’ll ask again—what’re you wearing?”
She turned her whole body to face me, her plaid yellow skirt riding up her smooth thighs. “Recreating the first night we were together. Only…” She bit her lower lip. “Making it right. Making it good for you, this time. For both of us. We deserve it, don’t you think?”
I nodded slowly, my heart in my goddamn throat. “Yeah, Dot. We do.”
We spent the drive to Make-out Mountain discussing the fascinating subject of whatever the fuck. I wasn’t really paying attention, instead laser-focused on the fact that Dot had rented a sports car and slipped into the outfit she’d worn that night, down to the knee socks and Mary Janes, for a do-over. That meant something, didn’t it?
We weaved through a thick forest, uphill on a gravel path toward the top of the mountain. The car groaned in protest, too old and rusty for the journey. The windows were rolled down, the freezing cold barely registering from the adrenaline coursing through me. She parked at the exact same spot I had last time, turning off the car and leaning back in her seat. Her throat worked with a swallow, and she closed her eyes. I stared at her intently.
“What now?” she asked. I grinned. I had asked her exactly this question five years ago, after she’d asked me to drive up the mountain when I’d picked her up from that bonfire party. Back then, she hadn’t known it was a dream come true. That I had been shitting bricks, worried I’d somehow say the wrong thing, act the wrong way, and blow it.