Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I have so many questions. I can’t help but wonder how old he is and what he does for work. He seems to have access to a lot of money and carries himself with a certain confidence that piques my curiosity.
But those questions aren’t getting answered, namely because I’m not going to ask. I’m going to keep this light and not dig in too deep. I’m going home tomorrow and leaving him and whatever transpires between us behind.
This is getting me back into the game, not the game itself.
“So this Mimi,” I say, slicing into my chicken. “Tell me about her.”
“She’s the coolest grandma of all time.”
“Sounds like you two have a thing.”
“Oh, we do.” He lifts a piece of steak to his mouth. “And I’m afraid of what that thing would look like if our age gap wasn’t a solid fifty years.”
I laugh. “Does Mimi have a thing for you?”
“I’ll put it to you like this—I see her almost every Wednesday for our date night. That usually consists of dinner that I pick up somewhere and a cookie or cake she makes for me. Then we get into her golf cart, and I drive her, usually shirtless, around the neighborhood so she can make the old man at the end of the street jealous.”
My giggles are instantaneous. “You’re serious?”
“You’ve never tasted her lemon meringue pie.” He smiles from ear to ear. “She’s really … I wouldn’t say sweet because she can be hell on wheels, but we love her. Two of my other brothers and I have adopted her as our pseudo-grandma. She likes me best, of course.”
“Naturally.”
“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear the sarcasm in your voice.”
“You do that.”
We exchange a look that sucks any remaining nervousness out of me.
I can’t explain why I feel so at ease with Tate, a man I met only a few hours ago. But I do. He feels oddly safe. He’s a breath of fresh, amber-scented air.
The thought makes me chuckle.
We sit quietly and enjoy our meal. We occasionally comment on the taste of our food or the songs playing faintly overhead. Otherwise, we simply share space.
I reach for my drink when a stunning couple stops at our table. The man is older and dazzling with thick, dark hair and intense eyes. The woman on his arm is breathtakingly beautiful in a sleek red dress.
“Fenton,” Tate says, standing. “It’s good to see you.”
Fenton extends a hand toward Tate. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
The woman looks down at me and smiles warmly. I instantly like her.
“What brings you to Columbus?” Fenton asks.
“I have a conference in the morning. What about you?”
He slides an arm around the woman’s waist. “Brynne wanted to see an art exhibit at the museum here this weekend. Tate, have you met my wife?”
Tate looks at her and nods. “I have not. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brynne.”
“Likewise,” she says.
“Fenton, Brynne, this is my date, Kelly,” Tate says. “Kelly, this is Fenton and Brynne Abbott.”
My heart leaps at being put on the spot. I have no idea what to do. Do I stand, too? Shake their hands? Am I supposed to do that double-cheek kiss thing some women do?
Neither Brynne nor Fenton extends a hand, so I stay seated. Fenton gives me a subtle nod. Brynne, however, turns toward me with a bright smile.
“Are you having a nice time tonight?” Brynne asks as her husband engages Tate in conversation.
“Yes. I’ve never been here before, and the food is divine. I’m highly impressed.”
“Have you chosen dessert yet?” She smirks and glances at Tate. “Aside from the obvious.”
I exhale, relieved to be in the presence of a girl’s girl. “Not yet.”
“Let me suggest the blueberry pie, which, I know, is an odd choice. But Fenton insists that every restaurant he opens in the Ruma chain comes with one dessert unique to that location. The head chef here chose blueberry pie as an ode to the Midwest.”
“My boss knows the man who owns this hotel chain. So we stay in his hotels when we travel, if possible.”
“I just realized that you own the hotel,” I say, with a small laugh. “Please pardon what I fear is a look of disbelief on my face.”
“How would you possibly know?”
Fenton turns to his wife. “Are you ready, Rudo?”
Rudo? What does that mean?
“Yes,” she says. “It was nice to meet you, Kelly. Maybe we’ll see each other again soon.”
“It was nice to meet you, too,” I say, withholding my internal commentary that not only will I not see her again, but I won’t see Tate, either.
Tate and Fenton exchange goodbyes.
“I’m sorry about that,” Tate says, sitting across from me.
“No, it’s fine. What an interesting couple …”
“You have no idea. My brother—I mean, my boss—has been friends with Fenton for a long time. I guess he and his wife have quite the story.”