Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Ben shrugged, removing his bowtie. “I didn’t send you letters, but I wrote them. You were always on my mind.”
“Benjamin,” I whispered to myself, opening to the first entry. He was wrong. I didn’t need the journal because I no longer doubted his love for me. Still, my heart melted.
Dear Gabbs,
My mom moved her Precious Moments off the top of the piano yesterday so I could lie on it. Then Tillie played it for nearly an hour. She said I moaned several times, and it made me think of your tiny moans when I braided your hair. I like to think that someday I will find my way again, and it will lead me back to you.
Dear Gabbs,
I have a cavity. It’s my first. I blame you because I’ve been eating all our favorites, but since you’re not here to share them with me, I’m eating twice the amount of sugar. Do you remember when we started buying snacks that came in twos? It was the first time we rode our bikes into town and loaded up on junk food at the gas station. It started when I grabbed a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. You said you liked them too, so I said we could share. That led to packs of Twinkies, Ding Dongs, Twix, Pop-Tarts, and Twin Pops. I miss the two of us.
Dear Gabbs,
I can’t stop thinking about what we did. I’m sure you regret it since I treated you so badly. I’m sorry it happened. You deserved better. I took something from you that I can’t give back. It’s weird regretting the greatest moment of my life, but I do. The other night, I dreamed you were pregnant. Can you imagine?
I looked up at Ben as he watched me read his journal, his white button-down shirt completely unbuttoned. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to see what page I was reading.
Then he smirked. “Uh, yeah. I bet you can imagine.”
EPILOGUE
SIXPENCE NONE THE RICHER, “KISS ME”
10 years later
Gabby
“Once upon a time, a young girl who dreamed of fairy tales, while scribbling poems about love, met a boy who heard music in everything around him. I call them the poet and the composer. What do you think?” Seren said while signing.
She sat cross-legged on the floor at the end of our bed, and Ben braided her hair.
It calmed both of them.
I, however, was anything but calm, unzipping my dress for a third outfit change.
“It’s perfect, sweetheart. But we can’t forget Aunt Sarah,” Ben said to our daughter.
Our whole family was being interviewed on a nationally televised morning show because Sarah, Ben, and I won an Obie (Off-Broadway Theater Award) for our musical The Preacher’s Daughter.
Seren thought they would ask her what the play was about, so she was practicing her explanation.
She wasn’t wrong. It was inspired by our love story, a dramedy that ended with the birth of a child, a girl named Bobbie (a nod to Bob Ross) because she was a happy accident. In real life, Bobbie was Seren, inspired by the word serendipity, which also defined a happy accident.
The Preacher’s Daughter stood a good chance of transitioning to a Broadway musical with its success and awards. We never intended on staying in New York City forever, but our life was the epitome of unplanned.
“Seren, get dressed,” I said when Ben finished her braid.
“I’m going,” she said with a little sass before carrying her brush out of our bedroom.
“Baby, take a breath,” Ben said, looking handsome and unfairly calm, perched on the end of our bed, hands folded between his spread legs.
Benjamin Ashford looked sinful in a black suit and tie. My best friend got more handsome every year. And the world was about to get a good look at him and hear how he didn’t let his disability deter him from pursuing his passion.
After two years of working on the ranch, Ben went back to school and earned his degree in music composition. We rented a tiny apartment near campus, and I worked evenings and weekends waiting tables while Ben stayed home with Seren and studied. During the day, when Seren napped, I worked on my writing. Sarah convinced me to write my and Ben’s story. Then she and Ben wrote the lyrics and music. With her connections in the industry, our little story came to life as a musical.
I turned so Ben would zip my black dress that covered my knees, shoulders, and cleavage. Dad would be proud.
But before he zipped it, Ben kissed my bare back. “I love you. I think it’s what I do best.”
After he zipped it, I pivoted toward him, resting my hands on his clean-shaven face for a few seconds before signing, “You try. And I appreciate that. But you didn’t love me in the beginning, chapter one, like I loved you. But—”