Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“No, I didn’t lose my job. Although it feels like someone’s trying to bury me professionally.”
“Is it that cutthroat?” Juniper asks as Donna delivers my waffles.
“Not usually. Well, yes, it is, but I can handle it. I know when to expect the blows. And usually, I’m in New York, so I’ve got my gloves on. But someone from my past has come back to haunt me, and it feels like… I don’t know. It’s strange. It feels weirdly personal. And now I’m starting to sound paranoid.”
She gives me a reassuring smile. “You seem to me like a man who has good instincts. Maybe it is personal.”
But why would it be? It wasn’t like I got a promotion at EMG and he didn’t or something. We were both the same level. Maybe I had more of a knack for sniffing out talent than he did. I certainly got more artists signed than he did during our time as co-workers. But he stole artists right from under my nose. If anything, I should have a personal vendetta against him.
“I can’t see how.” I shrug.
“I think the waffles will make you feel better,” Riley says. “I’m feeling better after some of my pancakes. Mom says it’s the sugar.”
I grin at her. “Good advice, Riley.” I dig into my waffles.
“Pancakes and mom snuggles. That’s the secret sauce that always cheers me up.”
I glance sideways at Juniper, and she’s trying not to laugh.
“I’m not sure I qualify for mom snuggles,” I reply. “But these waffles are delicious.”
“Best in the tristate area,” Riley says wisely.
Juniper laughs. “The tristate area? Who made you, kid?”
“You did! And Dad.” Riley’s expression turns sullen. “My dad moved to Orlando with his new family.”
A pang of sadness hits me in my chest. I know that feeling. Everything changing and you not being able to do anything about it. Not knowing if you’re going to see your dad again. It’s all… a lot.
Juniper chews on her bottom lip. “It’s an adjustment,” she says.
“Yeah, I get that,” I say. “My mom and dad got divorced when I was a kid.”
“Really?” Riley asks.
“Really,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “It takes time, but new becomes old pretty quick.”
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“It means it hurts. And it’s difficult to imagine, but it will hurt less someday.”
Riley shrugs and takes another mouthful of pancakes.
Juniper slides her hand onto my thigh and pats it under the table before going back to her eggs. I’m not sure if it’s a thank-you for trying to make Riley feel better or an I’m sorry you went through that. Maybe it’s both. It’s nice. She’s nice. So’s Riley. Juniper’s not someone trying to make me think she’s one person when she’s actually another. She’s still the beautiful, insightful woman I met. But she’s also a mother.
“Riley, what do you think about me taking your mom to dinner sometime this week?” I ask.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Juniper’s eyebrows rise up into her hairline.
“What, like at Pizza Meet Ya?”
“Pizza Meet Ya?” I ask. “Wow, that’s a mouthful.”
Juniper laughs. “The pizza place on the corner,” she clarifies.
“Maybe,” I say. “Does she like Pizza Meet Ya?”
“She does,” Riley says. “We don’t go very often though.”
I glance at Juniper. Her expression is open and happy. It’s comforting and warm.
“If you’d like to go to dinner, that is?” I ask her.
She nods. “That would be nice.”
“Do you want to be her boyfriend?” Riley asks.
Juniper splutters on her drink and goes to speak.
I chuckle. “I just wanna get dinner,” I say. “I get really, really hungry.”
“Okay,” Riley says.
“Okay?” I look at Juniper.
“Okay,” she says with a wide smile.
ELEVEN
Juniper
I don’t know what I was thinking, saying yes to dinner with Fisher. Not that I don’t melt every time he’s near. I don’t find him any less attractive than I ever did. But I know it’s heading nowhere, so why dinner? He was just so cute with Riley at the diner. I couldn’t help myself. And the way he fielded the question about him wanting to be my boyfriend was expert. Being able to cope with awkward questions from an eight-year-old is an aphrodisiac I never knew existed.
“Are you ready?” Mom calls from the living room.
“Nearly!” I call back. It’s a lie. I can’t decide what to wear.
This is just a casual one-off date. I’m not about to date a guy who lives nearly two thousand miles away. Or eighteen hundred forty-seven miles away—I looked it up on Google. But I want to look nice. I want to feel attractive. I want him to find me attractive. Most of my semi-nice clothes I wear to work. And the ones I don’t wear to work are mainly covered in paint.
Lights flash across my bedroom window. Lights of a car. Of Byron’s truck.
Shit.
I pull on some jeans and a white camisole. It’s casual. But maybe it’s too casual if we’re going up to the Colorado Club. I pull off my jeans and top and grab the green dress I bought to wear to school, but haven’t worn yet. It’s still casual enough for Pizza Meet Ya, but it could pass at the Club. I think. I bend over, ruffle my hair and then flip back to standing. That will have to do.