Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
I can’t do that if I’m trying to tie her up and drive her to the edge of pleasure.
“Ripley,” I say, shoving my desire to the side. There’s no room for it. “That was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have done that.”
For a hot second, her eyes flash with something like hurt. But maybe I’m imagining it because a moment later, it’s gone. “Agreed,” she says, clipped.
I should drive to the farm. Deal with work. Greet the crew. But I failed that first night with Ripley, running off with barely a word. I could have gone to her hotel room. Said something then, like she pointed out in her kitchen the other day.
I can’t redo the night we met, but I can give her the full truth now. She deserves it. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” I say, a little desperate. “It’ll compromise my ability to do my job.”
Her lips are a ruler, but she nods. “Sure.”
Is that a doubtful sure or a genuine one? “I need to protect you,” I add. “I can’t do that if I’m distracted.”
“And I’m a distraction?”
“Yes. A huge one,” I say.
She draws a sharp breath, nodding a few times. “I need to focus on the movie—it’s a big break for my sister. And it’s a huge opportunity for the farm. If it goes well, I can send my grandma to Paris to see her boyfriend. She deserves it. She’ll miss the bees, but I can take care of them.”
My heart warms, hearing her plans. Of course they involve others, even bees. “Lila definitely deserves it.”
“So, it’s fine,” she says, raising her chin, being all tough-girl.
“Good. Then, it won’t happen a second time,” I say, hating those words but needing to say them. Especially since I’m wrong. “A third time,” I correct.
She smiles mirthlessly, then it fades. “It definitely won’t,” she says as I start the truck.
“We were just getting it out of our systems.”
“Exactly,” she echoes as I drive toward the lavender fields, the golden glow of the late-afternoon sun making them shimmer.
“And it’s in the past,” I add, hammering home the point. “We won’t do it again.”
“We definitely won’t,” she says as we reach the farm.
Maybe because I need a final reminder I say, “Good. That’s good.”
She gives me a big smile, then waves her hand in front of her like she’s making it disappear. “I’ve already forgotten all about it.”
Then she jumps out of the car, rushes across the front lawn, and throws her arms around her sister.
Yup. She’s forgotten it all right.
I wish I could do the same.
23
JUST MATH
RIPLEY
It’s like a clown car.
Or three clown cars, to be precise. The number of people grabbing bags and gear from the two town cars and the SUV is a little overwhelming.
A lanky guy with a freshly shaven bald head and a long beard slings a black bag on his shoulder. He’s chatting with a shorter man sporting an undercut and a goatee. They’re giving artsy movie vibes. Betting one’s the director of photography and the other’s an AD—assistant director. More guys lug boom mics while some women grab what I think are light diffusers from the big SUV.
“Did they multiply?” I ask Haven once I finally let go of my baby sister.
“Yes. Right before my eyes on the plane. It was like mitosis in biology class,” she says.
I swat her. “You nerd.”
She juts out her hip, like she’s owning the moment. “Once a nerd, always a nerd.”
I drape an arm around her again. “And you’re my nerd,” I say, breathing in happiness and contentment. It’s so good to see her again, even in spite of that totally awkward conversation with Banks moments ago. Banks, who’s chatting with someone who just arrived. Come to think of it, I should probably freshen up post O. Change the panties and all. Might as well erase the evidence, just like we’re forgetting that tryst in the truck ever happened.
“I’ll be—”
But before I can say right back, a woman with sleek black hair hidden under a fabulous pink sun hat strides over to us across the emerald-green lawn.
“Cute hat,” I say to her, and it seems to be doing the trick at keeping the sun far, far away from her.
“Thanks. It doubles as an umbrella,” she says, then sticks out a hand. “I’m Tabitha Zhao. Juniper has told me so much about you.”
“And I’m sure it’s all fabulous,” Haven puts in, squeezing my shoulder. It’s cute how she’s protective of me. I’m the same with her.
Tabitha smiles at Haven. “Yes, all fabulous.” Then to me, she says, “And we appreciate you opening your home to the crew. I’m seriously grateful. Everything happened so quickly with the film and the financing. But your flexibility is not going unnoted by my bosses.”
It takes me a second to process the double negative, but I nod, and say, “Anything for Haven.”