Life's Too Short (The Friend Zone #3)(14)

I arched an eyebrow. “Would you like to elaborate on that?”

She shook her head. “Nope, not really.”

“Okay. So what do you do?”

“I’m a YouTuber.”

I drew my brows down. “A what?”

“A video blogger? I have a travel channel. Basically I go places and I make videos about it.”

She started cutting her chicken. I noticed she was having a hard time with the knife. Her right hand didn’t seem to be gripping properly. She was getting the job done though so I didn’t ask if she needed help.

“And how do you get paid for that?” I asked, looking away, not wanting to be rude. “Sponsors?”

“Yup. That and people pay to run ads during my videos. I also do appearances at cons and stuff. I get a percentage from products I sell on my Instagram and a lot of resorts invite me out for free in exchange for vlogging my experience.”

“Huh. So where have you been?”

She shrugged. “Everywhere. I’ve traveled the world. I’ve been on a safari in Uganda and on a gondola in Venice. I’ve climbed volcanos and ridden a donkey up a mountain in Greece. You name it, I’ve done it.” She skewered her chicken and took a bite.

“Wow. How’d you get into that?”

She chewed and swallowed. “Well, my sister Melanie got sick when she was twenty-seven. She died less than two years later. Afterward, I decided that starting on my twenty-sixth birthday, I was going to travel the world like I had one good year left to do it. So I started a GoFundMe, liquidated my meager 401(k), and got ready to go. And right before I left, I made a video about what I planned to do and that went viral. The rest is history.”

“Can I check out your channel?” I asked.

“Sure. It’s called Social Butterfly.”

I’d never heard of it. But then I also couldn’t remember the last time I’d been on YouTube.

“And what did you do before that?”

She shook her head. “I don’t tell anyone that.”

I arched an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“I make people earn it.” She smiled. “It’s too good to just give away.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind.” I poked at my food. “You must enjoy your current job. I’ve always wanted to do more traveling.”

She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Do it. What’s stopping you?”

I laughed mirthlessly. “Well, I don’t fly, for one. And life.”

“Life is no excuse,” she said. “You should always have an adventure lined up. Having something to look forward to is tantamount to happiness.”

I cut another ravioli in half. “Oh yeah?”

She looked at me matter-of-factly. “Yeah. Even if you have no money or time or the weather is bad, you can still live an exciting life if you try.”

“Okay,” I said. “How? Give me an example.”

She set her fork down. “All right. Today, for example. The weather’s bad, so play hide-and-seek in this building. Or poke around in all its nooks and crannies.”

I gave her an amused look.

“What? I’m serious. This building is so cool. I mean, I know you own it, but have you actually ever explored it?”

“Of course. It was a flour company in the late 1800s. There was a loading dock for the train where the lobby is now. It’s one of the things I loved about this property. They put flooring over the railroad tracks in the public areas, but if you go into the boiler room, it’s still there.”

She beamed. “I looove this building. Did you know the broom closet in the lobby by the mailboxes has the original brick where the workers for the mill graffitied their names?”

I hadn’t known that…

“You can pick a name and google him. See how he lived.” She went back to eating. “You can always figure out a way to have fun. Even if you can’t go anywhere.”

Huh.

I bet she was good at her job. She had this bottomless-energy thing about her. Something perky and shiny, the thing news anchors pretend to have on air.

“So that’s why I don’t really see you around,” I said. “You’re gone a lot.”

“Oh, I’m around.” She gave me a wry smile. “You probably just weren’t looking.”

Grace started making noises from her swing. Vanessa got up and grabbed a bottle from the dishwasher. I watched her as she had her back to me. She had a nice ass. A nice everything, actually.

I tore my eyes away from Vanessa leaning against the counter to get formula from a cabinet. “How old are you?” I asked, looking for something to talk about.

“Twenty-eight.” She measured formula with a scoop. “How tall are you?”

“Six-two.”

“So tall,” she said, filling the bottle with water. She twisted her lips into a smile. “If I need something from a high cabinet, can I text you to come grab it for me? Or would that be abusing my new phone number privileges?”

I chuckled. “Sure.”

“And I have a hard time with jar lids. Weak hands.” She wiggled her fingers. “Can I count on you for that too?”

“Why not.”

“Sweeeet,” she said, scooping formula into the bottle. “I’m going to do that, you know.”