Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“It’s excellent for stress relief . . . but I do it for flexibility.”
He cleared his throat. “So you’re . . . flexible?”
“Very.” I’d been intentionally self-assured in my answer on that one. “Today she had us practice this pose where your legs go back over your head.”
He looked like he almost wanted to spit out his wine. “That sounds very . . . adventurous. What’s that called . . . downward dog? Dogs are your thing.” He winked.
I chuckled. “No. Downward dog is a front-facing exercise. She had us bend our legs back and over our head. It’s called plow pose.”
His eyes widened. “You’re bending your legs over your head and it’s called plow pose?”
The irony in that terminology only now just hit me.
He has a dirty mind. I love it.
“I guess it’s a waste of a skill, considering nothing has been happening in that arena.”
Sebastian said nothing as he downed the last of his wine. Then he lifted the bottle. “More wine?”
“I’ll have a refill, yeah. Thanks.”
“This bottle is empty. Want to try something else, or shall I open another bottle of cab?”
“I really liked that one. What’s it called?”
He went to check the label, and I could’ve sworn I saw his face turn red. Apparently he hadn’t realized the name until now.
He wouldn’t say.
“Well?” I prodded.
“It’s called . . . Pornfelder.” He laughed awkwardly as he opened the bottle and refilled our glasses.
I couldn’t help but laugh myself. “What a name.”
“Sounds like someone made it up. Sort of like flunkerbsht.”
My face felt numb from embarrassment. “Ah, yes.”
He raised his glass. “You should trademark that, by the way.”
He drank some more of his wine, and when the glass left his mouth, I noticed his eyes travel down to my navel and back up again. I loved noticing him looking at me. He immediately started a new topic of conversation to divert from the fact that I’d caught him staring at my belly ring.
“So you never told me how you got into writing.”
I repositioned myself in my seat, making myself a bit more comfortable. “Well, I was a journalism major in college, but for many years, I never did anything with my degree, just worked odd jobs. At one point, I took an internship with the company that owns my magazine, and the reporter I worked under let me dabble in writing some of the articles. Eventually, I was hired as a general staff writer, and I’ve bounced around various departments ever since. The Holiday Wishes column has stuck with me for years, but my main writing assignments have changed a few times. I did articles on business etiquette for a few years and then switched to writing the Beauty Basics column. Writing about makeup got boring pretty fast.”
“But you’ve been doing the dating column for a while, right?”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “For a few years. That one stuck. They seem to think I’m the right fit for it, and it’s become pretty popular.”
“Well, I can see why. Women must love to live vicariously through a beautiful, successful woman living in the city. It’s like that show my mother used to watch . . . the one with the girl from Hocus Pocus.”
That made me crack up. “Sarah Jessica Parker, yeah. Sex and the City. Although I’m more like the poor girl’s Carrie Bradshaw.”
He seemed to be almost looking through me when he said, “You blow all those chicks out of the water.”
My entire body filled with heat. He’d just complimented me, and I had no clue how to handle it. I basically just wanted to jump him—but didn’t think that would go off too well.
“Do you see yourself staying at that job?” he asked.
“As much as I might complain, I really do enjoy it. Couldn’t really imagine myself with a typical nine-to-five.”
“What happens if you find someone you want to spend your life with? Do you still do the dating column?”
His question made my heart flutter a little. “I’m not betting on that with my luck . . . but if it were to happen, then I wouldn’t do the dating column. It has to be organic. If my heart belonged to someone else, what would be the point in faking it out there? It wouldn’t work, and it wouldn’t be fair to my partner, either.”
“So you’d ask for a reassignment?”
His curiosity on the topic gave me what was probably a delusional sense of hope. “Yes. I’d probably just write in one of the other departments if they’d have me.”
“Like the Santa column . . .” He smiled. For the first time, I noticed he had subtle dimples.
“That’s seasonal, so it wouldn’t cover me for the whole year . . . but that one I’ll stick with regardless, as long as they’ll have me. It’s so gratifying.”
“I’m happy you love your job,” he said.