Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I kept thinking about it as I headed for the Ford Piquette Plant, where the wedding was being held. Was it Rachel’s insinuating that he wouldn’t be able to handle it? Was it her accusation that he would have tried to pay her off instead of support her? Nate had only given me the bare bones of their conversation on the way to Babies“R”Us, but even from his thirty-second explanation, I thought I had a decent feel for what had been said. Nate had felt insulted enough to go on the offensive, to make an outrageous offer that he’d probably thought she would never accept–I imagined him operating much the same way in divorce arbitrations.
Or was there more to it? I know it sounds crazy, but the way he’d looked at me the entire time he’d been on the phone with her made me feel like his posturing might have had something to do with me, or at least what I had said to him the night before. Was he showing off for me? Could he possibly care that much what I thought?
Maybe I was reading too much into this. Maybe he was just a hot dude with a big ego who couldn’t stand for anyone, especially a woman, to get the better of him. And maybe all these fleeting romantic feelings on my part were a silly, biological response to seeing a man with a baby. After all, I hadn’t had these urges around him before Paisley showed up. Not very many of them anyway. A handful—okay, a couple dozen maybe, and I blamed good genetics for that. Who wouldn’t be attracted to him, with that face and that body? Of course, there was also his sense of humor, his brain, his reliability, his generosity, and his knack for mixing the perfect dirty martini, but those were all good qualities in a friend. And that’s what we were. Friends.
That’s why he cares what you think, silly. Because you’re friends. He knows you were being honest with him last night, because there has never been any bullshit between you. No sex to cloud judgment. No jealousy. No reason for either of you to cut the other down.
And we had, hadn’t we? As much as we liked to bicker, last night had been our first real fight, the first personal insults hurled, the first hurtful “punches” thrown. But we’d gotten through it.
That’s true, you did. So when are you going to deal with what he said about you?
I frowned as I signaled and changed lanes on Woodward Avenue. Since last night, I had done a good job ignoring the voice in my head demanding I take a closer look at what he’d said about me. I really didn’t want to, mostly because it was sort of true. I did tend to fall in love with anyone I slept with. I did want each lover to be the one. Why else would I be with him?
My sisters had all kinds of opinions about this. Analytical Stella thought I chose the wrong guys on purpose, some crap about my subconscious self being afraid the kind of love I wanted didn’t really exist. She thought this probably stemmed from our parents’ divorce, but I constantly reminded her that their split had been amicable, and no one blamed Dad for leaving, least of all Mom. For crying out loud, he was married to a man now, a wonderful guy named Roberto, who we all adored—even our mother. Free-spirited Maren thought I was simply trying too hard, moving too fast. She was always telling me I needed to take time for myself, turn my focus inward, and concentrate on achieving harmony within my body and mind. Sometimes I tried to do what she said, but it never worked. For one thing, the inner workings of my mind were kind of frightening at times, and I never enjoyed examining them up close.
I pulled into the parking lot next to the old Model T factory, gathered my things, and checked my reflection in the rearview mirror one last time. Then I couldn’t resist taking my phone out of my bag and texting Nate.
How’s it going? Everything okay?
I gave it a minute but he didn’t reply, and I really didn’t have any extra time. My professional reputation was very important to me. Dropping my phone back in my bag, I got out of the car, locked it up, and hurried through the cold March wind into the building.
But when it was five o’clock and the ceremony was about to start and he still hadn’t answered my message, I started to worry. Which was silly, right? He’d have called or texted if anything was wrong. Still, I was nervous enough to shoot off a quick question as the grandmothers were being seated.