Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“What is this about?” I ask, all levity gone. “Joking aside, what has you so stressed that you sent me an email and then …” Aha! “And then called Banks to find out where I was so you could come find me.”
She takes a steadying breath, resigned to reality.
I almost tell her that it’s fine—that I’ll delete the message, and we can pretend it didn’t happen. And I would do that if I wasn’t certain that something was wrong and she needed my help. She just doesn’t want to ask for it.
In a show of camaraderie, I set my phone on the ladder. She eyes it—considers grabbing it and making a run to her car, I think—but doesn’t. Instead, her shoulders soften.
“I was talking to my neighbor today,” she says. “I’ve decided that I’m going to go on the couples retreat and get my promotion and not say a word about Chuck eliciting a confession from me that wasn’t really a confession.”
What’s she saying? “Okay.”
“And …” Hesitation fills her eyes. “I was thinking that maybe you would be available and willing to pretend to be my ex-husband and go with me next weekend to Silver Springs.”
My eyes widen. Abso-fucking-lutely I will.
“I don’t have the final itinerary yet,” she says. “But we’d probably leave Friday during the day and come back Monday. It would all be paid for by Bloom Match—so you wouldn’t be out anything at all. And I would just need you to go on some excursions with me as photographic documentation for my report. You may need to talk to my boss when we get back and give her some feedback on how it went.” She grins. “You know, tell her it was great, and you think this will absolutely help relationships. Make me look good.”
Like you need my help with that.
I take a step away from her and give myself a second to absorb her offer. It sounds too good to be true. Pippa Plum wants me to spend a weekend away with her?
Must be the universe’s repayment for dealing with Banks.
“Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to spend the weekend with you in Silver Springs?”
“As my ex-husband.”
“As your ex-husband,” I say, nodding. How is this real?
“Yes. And the purpose of this trip officially is that we’re trying to see if it rekindles our marriage or relationship. Which activities do we think will help that goal? What enhances our communication? Do we like having prescribed things to do, or would a self-guided thing work better? Things like that.”
I run a hand down my face. There’s no way this is real. Surely, someone is punking me. I must take a moment too long to respond because she sighs.
“If you don’t want to do this, we can pretend I didn’t send that, and you can delete it and—”
“Will you stop?” I laugh. “Breathe. Stop talking in one giant sentence because it gets hard to follow along.”
She squints at me, looking adorable. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not.”
“If you don’t want to go, or if this is totally unfeasible because I know it’s last minute and totally inconvenient …”
I squint back at her, making her giggle. “You know I’ll go with you.”
She sighs, her body sagging. “Really?”
“Really. It will be a total hardship, but I’m pretty sure I can go away with you and share a bedroom for a few nights. Poor me.”
She picks up a gum wrapper and throws it at me.
“I’ll pay you for your time if you want. Well, not me, but Bloom. I can get it approved,” she says. “You’ll have to miss a day or two of work, maybe. Is that okay?”
“I know the boss. It’ll be fine.”
“But really, I don’t want you to feel like you’re not getting anything out of this. I’m happy to … bake you a cake? I don’t know. Something. But I’m broke so don’t ask for anything expensive. But now that we’re at this part of the conversation, I feel a little guilty asking you to do this.” She bites her lip. “Let me do something nice for you.”
Here’s my opening.
I scramble to think of the best way to utilize this opportunity. Pippa isn’t going to feel good about this unless I let her feel like she’s paying me back somehow. What can I do?
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “I have something you can do for me.”
“All right …”
“We’ll be gone how many nights?” I ask.
“Three? Maybe four?”
“Great. Then you have to spend three, maybe four days with me outside of the trip.”
She stares at me.
“Take it or leave it,” I say, knowing she doesn’t have a choice—but also knowing I won’t make her go through with it if she objects.
I start to think she might actually do that—object—when the severity on her face melts. The tension in her body falls away. There’s a brightness to her eyes, a coy smile on her lips, and the woman looking back at me isn’t the frantic one who walked through the door.