Texting With the Enemy (Digital Dating #1) - Marika Ray Page 0,53

trying to tell me? My phone dinged as I unlocked my front door and kicked it shut.

Chad the Neck Licker: Thanks again for meeting me, even though the venue was a bit odd. Hope you got home without another wardrobe malfunction . . . I hate when that happens.

I bit my lip, but even that couldn't stop the smile from happening. Since when did Boston have bra malfunctions? Also, I really needed to change his name in my contacts. I did that, giving myself some time to think of a response.

Me: Did you go back to paint your pot?

Boston the Heartbreaker: Uh, no. I didn’t have an extra week in my schedule to paint that thing.

I smiled harder, moving into the living room.

Me: Maybe you could get Pauline on that after she finishes her quilt.

Boston the Heartbreaker: Excellent idea! Far better idea than filing or answering the phones.

Me: Hey, I have another idea. What if we did a special event at the winery targeting newly engaged couples?

The second I sent that one, I cringed. Maybe not the best topic to bring up with the guy you just broke up with. I hurried to add to that thought.

Me: My best friend is a wedding photographer and she deals with a ton of brides around here. Maybe the winery would be a fun spot for private wedding showers since it’s so geared toward women.

Boston the Heartbreaker: Great idea! Let’s explore that tomorrow.

Boston the Heartbreaker: Also, I have a contact at Le Tableau I was hoping to introduce you to. The Cunning Ham chardonnay would be a perfect addition to their menu.

This was nice. Really nice. I wanted nothing more than to keep this text string going all day. Which was why I had to end it. It wasn’t fair to keep Boston in my life like this if I had no intention of dating him. And until I could say yes to dating him without a single waver or doubt, I had to cut him loose.

Me: Sounds good. See you tomorrow.

Boston the Heartbreaker: Looking forward to it. Goodnight, El.

My screen went dark. I glanced around my duplex and sagged against the couch. It was official. My heart had been in pieces all week, little jagged edges that rattled around in my chest, slicing me open every time I saw Boston. I wasn’t even angry at him anymore. I needed to forgive him and open myself back up to a relationship with him.

Or I needed to quit my fabulous job, so I didn’t have to see him every day.

And both of those options made me want to curl up with a bottle of tequila and live the mannequin life like Frank.

19

Boston

* * *

“This pot is not exactly what I had in mind,” Mom complained as I heaved the gigantic thing out of the back of my car outside the winery the next day.

“You’re kidding, right? The painting place girl told me you picked it out yourself.” I stared at my mother, trying to decide if I was more aggravated about the pot or about the meddling attempt to push El back into my arms when she clearly wasn’t ready.

“I did. I just, I really thought you’d put a bit more effort into painting it.”

“What was your goal in sending me there, Mom? To get a painted pot, or to get El and I to talk?”

Mom frowned. “Both. But the pot would have been nice to have when people show up for the festival this weekend.”

“The festival is about wine and food, not gargantuan pots. What are you going to put in this thing, anyway?”

Mom shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought something grand, something to really make a statement might be required. No one knows us yet, and I want them to see that we’re serious.”

“About wine,” I pointed out. “Not about pottery.”

“Maybe.” She waved her hand as if dismissing the huge pot.

I sighed. “Okay. Well, I appreciate your efforts to get El and me talking. But I’m going to ask you to step back now, all right?”

“Hmph.” Mom did not seem pleased. Her natural state was meddling and involved. She didn’t do well on the sidelines, especially now that Dad was gone. Dad had been the voice of reason, holding her back from her most embarrassing meddling ways. “And the pot?”

“Can we not worry about the pot right now? Get Dalton to paint it!” I was having a hard time controlling my emotions. I had let them go just a bit when