Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Most of the announcements on the board are about music shows or outdoor movies happening in the area over the summer. But there are some other options.
“Did you want to keep working out?” I point to an ad for a local gym and an invitation to join a jogging group.
“Running from my responsibilities would be on brand.” He peruses the board. “What do you do in your free time?”
“I read and watch movies. And I used to hang out with friends. But then the breakup happened and I realized most of them were really his friends.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.” I pause. “Was that an overshare?”
“No. We’re friends, and honesty is a good thing.”
And the funny thing is, talking to Nash this way feels like a weight has lifted off my shoulders. He’s not going to judge me harshly. None of this information will be used against me at a later date. There’s a chance I’ve been hanging with and dating the wrong people.
“You okay there?” he asks.
“Just thinking deep thoughts.”
“So, I guess we both need new hobbies,” he says, carrying on despite my brief bout of emotional weirdness. “Sunshine Sourdough Society. Is there honestly that much to discuss about bread that it merits a weekly meeting?”
“I have to strenuously disagree with you there. Carbs should always be taken seriously.”
“Do you think they name their starters things like Doughlene and Ryehanna?”
I smile. “Then there’s always the pickle, jam, and chutney club. Or how about the paranormal research group? Bet they’d be interesting. You could actually ask Johnny Cash what he thinks about you wearing color.”
“That would be amazing.” He pulls a credit card out of his back pocket. But not just any card, one of those exclusive black, invitation-only ones.
I cover it with my hand before the shop assistant can see. “Normal people don’t have those, and they’ll see your name. Do you have anything else?”
He shakes his head. “Left my phone in Nashville too.”
“Let me get it and you can transfer the money.”
“I appreciate that. This attempt at a new life owes everything to you and your grandma.”
I give him a wink. “You’re in safe hands.”
“Speaking of which, we should probably hold hands on the walk back.” He gives me the most dubious grin in all of time and space. The man is not the least bit serious. “Maybe even make out some on Main Street. For authenticity’s sake. Just to bolster our story. What do you think?”
“Let me ponder it for a minute.”
My smile doesn’t seem to sit on my face quite right. Time to shove my feelings for him down into my darkest recesses. Again. Because I wish he wanted to kiss me. And I wonder what it would be like to place my hands on his skin. But these are just rebound or crush-type sensations that aren’t the least bit helpful, and are best ignored. As he himself admitted, this fuckboy flirtation routine is no more than nonsense.
“No.”
“Dammit.”
And me and my fake ex-boyfriend head on home. Without any physical contact.
CHAPTER FOUR
We greet the new day with a smoke alarm screeching and the scent of burned food filling the house. Nash is opening the windows wider and waving a kitchen towel around to dispel the acrid air. Meanwhile, Grandma sits at the table watching the brouhaha with a serene expression. Her short gray hair is neatly styled and she’s wearing a yellow linen sundress.
“You were right, Audrey,” he yells over the alarm. “The pan was too hot for scrambled eggs. Starting with cereal would have been safer. Maybe work my way up to toast. Take this cooking thing one step at a time.”
Thankfully the smoke alarm stops. The way the sudden silence rings in my ears. I was brushing my teeth and tying my dark hair back into a low-slung ponytail when it started. Wandering out in my pajamas is right out with a rockstar in the house. He may have spent part of the other night asleep beside me, but it would feel too weird to me now. Just showing up as my usual morning mess. So it’s jeans and a navy tank top for me.
And not even the alarm can dim his masculine beauty. The hard lines of his face in the morning light are a sight to see. It’s therapeutic to remember the video of him on various red carpets I watched the night before. He’s as unobtainable as can be. Ordinary people such as myself can only stare at him from afar. Say, the length of the kitchen table.
I give Grandma a kiss on the cheek, and she says softly, “Don’t eat anything he tries to give you.”
“Got it.”
Grandma’s home is usually an oasis of calm under her complete control. Nash, however, is like a hand grenade lobbed into the middle of her domestic bliss. The funny thing is—she doesn’t seem to care. The woman has zero fucks to give about him turning her usually bright and airy kitchen into the sight of an egg-burning, toxic-meltdown chemical disaster. I am starting to see how she worked for a rockstar all those years. She is simply unflappable.