Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“No. I’m, uh …” I fix my hair in the rearview mirror. “I’m good with meeting your parents.”
“Great. How’s six sound?”
“What day? I’ll let Callie know I need to be off in time.”
“Today. You’re not working, right?”
“Today?” I roll down the window because it’s hot in here, or maybe it’s the news of her parents coming today. “That’s soon,” I say.
“They’ve been in Chicago, so they thought they’d pop up here to visit me.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Cool. Can’t wait.”
“They’re the best. I promise you’ll love them.”
“Did you tell them the same thing about me?”
“Of course.”
Crap. That’s a lot of pressure. I get out of my car. Since I’m here, I might as well grab some snacks and something to drink.
“But I didn’t get into details about us. I’m saving the really good stuff for when they get here.”
“What’s the really good stuff?”
“I’m going to tell them you have a fascinating job for super nice people. You put yourself between me and oncoming traffic when we’re near a street. You never look at your phone when we’re together. You say the most romantic things, yet I don’t think you’re trying to be romantic. It’s just something that’s effortless for you.”
I laugh. “It’s not effortless. It’s painful because I rarely realize what I’m saying until it’s too late. So as long as you know this might not end well for us tonight …”
“They’re going to love you,” she says with confidence.
I wish I could see myself the way she does. What if they’re the parents who do a background check on their daughter’s boyfriend? This could be the beginning of the end.
Chapter Sixteen
June
“My girl,” Mom says, hugging me the second I open the apartment door.
“Hey!” I melt into her embrace. The familiar scent of coconut oil in her long blond hair makes me feel like I’m a shy little girl again, burying my face in her hair because people are staring at me and my cleft lip.
My mom is ageless, like my grandma.
“Dad!” I throw myself into his arms when Mom releases me.
I don’t have to see my mom to know she’s rolling her eyes. Yeah, I’ve been a daddy’s girl for as long as I can remember.
“How are you, baby?” he asks.
“Good. Better than good.” I release him.
“Would this have anything to do with a certain man you’ve met?” Mom asks, kicking off her sneakers.
I blush, biting back the huge grin dying to steal across my entire face.
“Spill.” Mom grabs my wrist and pulls me to sit next to her on the sofa, angling her body toward mine like she’s my best friend and not my mom. She’s both, really.
Dad escapes into the kitchen, opening cabinet doors until he finds a glass. He’s pretending he can’t hear us.
“Well, I told you his name is Flynn, and he’s a muse.” I wait for Mom’s response.
“That’s …” Her eyes widen for a few seconds in false excitement, then she deflates. “Sorry, baby. What’s a muse? I mean, I know the definition of a muse. I’m just not familiar with it in the context of a job.”
“That makes two of us,” Dad says, sitting in the chair next to the sofa.
So much for his ignoring our conversation.
“This guy and his wife live in a big house not too far from here. I don’t know what they do, maybe they’re retired. He hired Flynn to be a muse for his wife. According to Flynn, the husband, Rupert, said his wife, Callie, needs inspiration to live.” I scrunch my nose. “It’s disturbing. But I’ve met her. And she’s pleasant. I’m not sure what’s happened to her, but apparently her husband thinks Flynn is inspiring.”
“Is he?” Mom asks with a conspiratorial grin.
When I give a little shrug, she perks up. My dad doesn’t share her excitement. Mom wants me to find myself and then find love, like she did. But Dad wants me back in California chasing old dreams.
“When do we get to meet him?” Mom asks.
“I’ve invited him to join us for dinner tonight. But he doesn’t know much about my past. Not the big stuff. Well, that’s not entirely true. I told him about the abduction.”
My parents wince at the same time. I can’t foresee a day when mentioning that time in our lives won’t cause them physical pain. After several years of therapy, I called it quits. Declared myself cured. Now I mention it as if I’m talking about someone else.
“I just told him I was taken and not harmed, then they recovered me safely.”
Mom curls her hair behind one ear and clears her throat. “Sweetheart, if he means enough to you for us to meet him, why have you been so selective with sharing everything about yourself?”
“You don’t trust him?” Dad asks.
I shake my head. “He grew up in the system. And he wasn’t treated well. In fact, I suspect he was abused pretty badly. I think he has trust issues, especially with people who he thinks have had an easier life than him. Which …”