Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Gina
I’m so excited to go on the picnic. I feel like I'm floating in the clouds as I get ready to spend time with Hunter. I know I shouldn’t be so excited and that I’m likely setting myself up for failure, but I can’t help it.
I grab my handbag to rush downstairs and try to tell myself not to come off as being too eager.
No man wants a woman who is begging to spend time with him.
My phone starts ringing as I close the bedroom door behind me, and I groan when I see Holly’s name on the screen.
This is the last thing that I need. I really do not want to talk to Holly, but I know that I can’t ignore her.
“Hi, Holly,” I say, answering the phone, wondering if I can hang up and blame it on a bad connection.
“Gina.”
“Hey, I can’t really talk right now.”
“Listen, I know you don’t do well under pressure, but I am going to have to tell you that we either get a story from you by the end of the week, or you’re fired.”
“Wait, what?” I stop dead in the middle of the hallway. “What are you talking about?” My heart pounds in a way that makes me think I could be having a heart attack. This was not meant to happen.
“I think my words are pretty clear to understand. You get the story on Hunter Waverly that we can run next week, or you’re fired.”
“I’m working on something, but I don’t know that I’m going to have the story by the end of the week.”
“Then you’re going to have to figure something out.
” She hangs up, and I just stand there. I can feel myself fluctuating between hot and cold, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. The fact of the matter is, I don’t want to get Hunter’s secret—at least not to have it printed.
But then what sort of investigative reporter am I if I do all this work and then don’t write the story?
I’m a loser. I don’t deserve to be a journalist.
Are you really going to let one night of sex ruin your entire career, Gina? I ask myself as I walk down the stairs. I’m no longer excited for the picnic or to spend time with Hunter because it feels tainted.
All I want to do is run away. I want to get in my car, drive home to my grandparents' house, eat lasagna, and forget that I ever met him. Forget that I ever took on this story. Maybe I’ll be able to convince someone to lend me money, and I could just travel around the world and try and find myself and who I am as a person—what I stand for, what I am good at.
Maybe I’d stop chasing things that aren’t right for me.
I chased Patrick, and he was horrible.
I chased this job, and nothing I’ve done has been good enough.
And now I am chasing Hunter, and I don’t feel right about it.
I see him waiting in the hallway with a bouquet of flowers in his hands for me, and a million emotions enter. Happiness at his handsome face, delight at the flowers, guilt at the real reason I’m here.
As he sees me, he walks toward me, a genuine wide smile on his face as he looks me over.
“They’re beautiful. Did you pick these from the garden?” I ask.
“How could you tell?”
“Because I’ve seen the roses around and the sunflowers. They’re really nice.”
“Thank you. I figured a beautiful woman deserves beautiful flowers.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ll put these in some water.” I hurry away from him, feeling guilty, and rush to the kitchen. I don’t want to be complimented right now.
Janina is in there, and she gushes as she sees the flowers. “Oh, those are beautiful, Gina. How lovely.”
“Thank you. Hunter gave them to me. I was just going to put them in a vase with some water.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it for you. I’ll put them in your room.”
“Oh, you don’t have to.”
“No, I know you’re going on a picnic. I put some bits and pieces together for you. I really hope you have a fun time.”
“Thank you. You really don’t have to do that.”
“We’ve needed a breath of fresh air like you around the house,” she smiles. “Yes, we have the writing group here every day, but seeing Hunter smile and seeing him happy—well, that’s something different. We’re all grateful for that.”
“Oh… well. I’m glad to hear that,” I say softly. “Thank you.” I hand her the bouquet and head back out of the kitchen and toward the front door.
Hunter’s standing there with a wicker basket in his hands and a cap on his head. I’m not sure where they came from, but the sight makes me smile.
“I figured we’d take a walk down by the beach,” he says, “and we can eat there.”
“Are you sure the pelicans aren’t going to try and grab our food? And the seagulls?”
“They’ll try, but I’ll defend your honor and your food.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir.”
“You’re welcome.” He opens the door for me, and we head out of the house.
As we head toward a Jeep, the sunshine warms my face, and I start to feel comfortable again. At peace. Being with him seems to do that for me.
“We could have walked if you wanted to.”
“It’s okay. Plus, I wanted to take you a little bit further—to a truly private beach that not many people have seen.”
“It must be crazy having so much land and private beaches.”
“It’s not mine. It’s my grandparents’.”
“But one day, it’ll be yours, I suppose.”
“I never really thought about it like that,” he says, nodding slowly. “So, did you have a good morning?”
“It was fine. Spoke to your grandparents. They told me what the first years of their life were like.”
“Any discrepancies in the story?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not really. I guess it seems like the normal first years of married life, when you have kids, and there’s just a lot going on.”
“Let’s not talk about them right now. I’m sure we’ll get to them later.”
“I’m sure we will. So, what did you do after I talked to your grandfather?”
“I went into town. Paparazzi were there again. Yay for me.”
“I’m sorry. That must be a miserable life.”
“When I was in New York, I didn’t really care about it.
It was just something that was constant, and being an eligible bachelor is not the worst thing to be known as.
But then life changed, and well… I don’t want to have them in my face constantly.
” I so badly want to ask him what changed.
So very badly. But another part of me doesn’t want to know.
Not until I figure out what I’m going to do.
“Do you enjoy being a ghostwriter? I know this is your first time.”
“It’s fine. I mean, I like writing. It’s something I’ve done my entire life, and this is a way to do it differently than I normally do.”
“Oh?” he asks. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I pause. This was a perfect segue into me talking about being a reporter, but it doesn’t feel right.
Especially not after the paparazzi conversation the other night.
It had felt natural then. We were in our cocoon, naked and close.
Now I don’t feel that same connection. I don’t not feel a connection—but it’s not the same connection that you feel after you’ve just been intimate with someone.
Now I just feel like a horrible person. I’ll tell him later.
“I thought we could go swimming after we eat. Or before we eat. Whichever one you prefer.”
“Swimming?” I say. “But I didn’t bring my bathing suit. You didn’t tell me we were going to go swimming.”
“Who needs a bathing suit? It’s a private beach. You’ve never been skinny-dipping before, Gina?”
“No. I’ve never been anywhere where there’s been a private beach or a private pool.”
“So, there is a first time for everything, right?”
“Did you ask me to this picnic so we could make love again?” I grin as he grabs my hand.
“I mean… I didn’t not ask you on the picnic because of that.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Anyway, I was narrowing down the list of people I think could have a connection to Patrick,” he says. “And I’m thinking it could be one of those college students.”
“Oh? You think so?”
“I mean, no one really knows them. I can’t even think of their names right now. Can you?”
“Oh, you would ask me this.” I groan. “I feel horrible. I should know their names. I’ve been in so many group meetings with them, but they don’t really speak much.
Wait. I got it. Sally and Quincy. They go to Whisper Cove Community College, and they’re in the creative writing program there.
I mean… do you really think they could steal? ”
“I’m not saying I think they could steal. I don’t know them,” he says matter-of-factly. “But Patrick seems to have his way with wooing women, and… well, Sally seemed like the impressionable sort.”
“You’re right. And to go to your point, you know what I’ve noticed? She’s always reading romance pieces. She wants to write romance books. And I think all her romance books have age gaps.”
“And Patrick seems like he’s older than her, right?”
“Yeah. Shit. Did he seduce Sally so he could get an in, and she stole the necklace?”
“I mean, my grandma always has people all over the house.”
“That’s true. She’s very open. Should we tell your granddad? Should we tell your grandma? Should we speak to Sally? There is a writer’s group meetup later today.”
“No. I don’t think we should do anything right now,” he says. “We don’t actually have any proof.”
“True. I have an idea, though. Maybe I could have a conversation with her. Ask her if she’s dating anyone.”
“Really, Gina?”
“What?”
“You’re going to ask Sally if she’s dating anyone when five minutes ago you could barely remember her name?”
“I mean… when you put it like that, that sounds kind of foul. But trust me, women love to talk about who they’re dating—even with people they don’t really know. There’s just something about talking about boys, especially when you’re younger. It’s a bonding experience.”
“So, are you talking about me, then?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m a boy.”
“And what we are—?”
“Seeing each other?”
“We’re fake dating.”