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)
Dylan: In other news, I just mustered the courage to look at my C-section scar in the mirror. It looks like my stomach is smiling. Like, straight-up laughing. The belly button is the nose and my tits are the eyes.
Dylan: But you know who isn’t smiling? ME. No one’s ever going to date me. Should we start a women-only commune? I can create an interest form.
I tossed a hand over my eyes and groaned in frustration. I didn’t know why I was so surprised Row hadn’t reached out. He’d said he wouldn’t. Even deactivated his account on Androphobes Anonymous. All or nothing. And the “all” option scared me to death. I couldn’t even commit to making a damn podcast, and true crime was pretty much my entire being.
Row, Row, Row. Beautiful, raw Row.
What was he doing? What was he thinking? His new restaurant was due to open really soon. That reminded me…hadn’t he given me a box to open when I got home? I was home now. Even though this place felt like anything but.
Before brushing my teeth, I ran to my backpack, discarded by the door, and retrieved the small box. My fingers shook when I slid it open. What could he possibly have given me? Money? A family heirloom? A ring?
Sure. He didn’t want to have coffee with you yesterday, but he got you a ring. Order that Vera Wang catalog right away, honey.
But when I opened the box, all I saw was a…key? A small, silver, insignificant thing. The type to fit the cheapest door lock. I reached to finger it, and felt a bump underneath the red velvet it was swimming in. There was something else under the key. I set it down and uncurled the rich fabric, pushing it aside.
117 York Avenue, Lenox Hill
Don’t google the address, just go.
—Row
I choked on the orb of emotions jamming my throat.
This man challenged me every step of the way. What would life with him be like? Full of surprises. And sex. And laughs. Happy. Did I deserve happiness? Or had I turned my back on him because I never believed I could have it in the first place?
Even though I was the nosiest human recorded on earth, I didn’t have it in me not to follow his instructions. What if he was there, wherever it was? Waiting for me on one knee, ready to ask for my hand in marriage?
Then he’ll have to make himself comfortable and wait a little longer. I had to fix myself to minimize the chances of him getting fined for littering for standing next to me.
I immediately proceeded to glam up. I washed, dried, and curled my hair to perfection. Contoured my face to its last inch. I wore my most flattering pair of jeans, pairing them with trendy, non-neon boots. Put on an elegant jacket that did not offend entire continents.
The whole time I got ready, I had no doubt in my mind that Row would be waiting for me. That this was all an elaborate way to win my heart.
But as I settled into my seat on the subway, my Body Shop perfume mixing with the greasy takeout the person next to me was scarfing down, I began second-guessing myself.
First of all, I knew he had gotten on a plane to London yesterday. He’d mentioned an early morning meeting with Tate, and Row wasn’t the type to screw people over.
Second, he hadn’t seemed on the verge of trying to win me over yesterday. On the contrary, he’d put the ball firmly in my empty, stupid, dead-grass court.
Third, it just wasn’t Row’s speed—begging for affection. We all made peace with the treatment we believed we deserved. Ambrose Casablancas knew his worth. And he was worth more than a flaky woman who was scared to have feelings.
He loved me, I knew. Was crazy about me, even, and would always, always be there for me if I needed him. But he wasn’t going to chase me around like a puppy.
Then what was the key in my hand supposed to symbolize? Where was I going?
I got off the train and walked the rest of the way to the address on the mangled piece of paper. The crisp winter air slapped my face, and my fingers were frozen to the point of numbness. Manhattan felt extra lonely, if only because I knew we didn’t share a city.
The journey took forever, and yet in no time at all, I stood in front of a low, redbrick building. My eyes stung, the ice-cold air scorching a path down to my lungs.
Soundbound Recording Studio: Recording, Mixing, Mastering. Make Your Dream Your Reality!
I knew Row wasn’t waiting for me on the other side of the door. He didn’t have to. He was doing the most chivalrous thing of all—chasing my dream for me.