Page 93 of The Book Club Boyfriend
Plot Twists & Pastries
Scarlett
The sun is too bright, the coffee smells too good, and I’m smiling. Like… actually smiling.
Which issuspicious.
Harper narrows her eyes the second I slide into the booth across from her at the little indie café we always meet at. She’s already got two croissants on a plate and a cappuccino halfway gone.
“You’re ten minutes late,” she says.
I shrug, tugging off my sunglasses. “I walked.”
“In heeled boots?”
“They’re barely heeled. Also, why are you squinting at me like I just confessed to murder?”
Her eyes narrow further. “You’re in amood.”
I sip my coffee innocently. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the day.”
“No, see, this issuspiciously chipperfor someone who was in a full spiral just a few days ago. Youhatedeveryone and everything. You told me love was a scam and you wanted to disappear into the woods and live off-grid.”
“I still stand by that. Mostly.” I push my hair over one shoulder.
She leans in, grinning. “Something happened. You’re glowing. Like, annoyingly so. I need to know everything immediately.”
I open my mouth to lie—because Iwasgoing to lie—but the words slip out faster than I can stop them.
“I went on a date.”
“WHAT?!” she roars.
I turn an unflattering shade of red as the people around us glance over. “Lower your voice,” I hiss.
Her jaw drops. “WithChase?”
I pretend to study the foam art in my latte. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
Harper smacks the table. “Scarlett Louise Calloway.”
I wince. “I know, okay? I don’t know what happened. One minute we were fighting over his taste in books, the next we were throwing axes and drinking milkshakes under the stars.”
Her jaw isstillon the floor.
“And?”
“And it was… good,” I admit. “Reallygood.”
Harper exhales dramatically. “Okay, forget the book.We need to talk about this man.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “There’s nothing to talk about. It wasonedate. That’s it. Probably won’t be a repeat; we’re definitelynotwalking down the aisle. I’m not giving up my independence, goals, and dreams for a guy who slaps around a rubber puck for a living.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
She’s looking at me like this is a Disney movie.
“Breathe, Harper,” I remind her, taking another sip of my latte.
