Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Where was the first place you went?”
“Rural Louisiana. It was gorgeous. Humid, but so beautiful and green. We repaired fences around elementary schools on that trip.”
“And thus began your Mr. Perfect arc.”
Torin shakes his head, and I see a serious expression land on his face. “I never feel like I’m doing enough, if you want the honest truth.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t think you’re doing enough? How is that humanly possible?”
“Because I know how much the world needs. Nothing could ever be enough.”
“But… you do everything you can. And then some.”
He cuts me a glance. “Noah, I need you to know something.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not trying to replace you,” he says, and I’m stunned by his choice of words. “When I first got to Onyx House, I may or may not have overheard you talking with Weston one morning.”
“Oh, God,” I groan. “Does that mean you eavesdropped on purpose?”
“Yes. It absolutely does.”
“For fuck’s sake, Torin.”
“I’m sorry. I was new in the house, and I was pretty sure you were talking shit about me. And you were.”
“I wasn’t talking shit,” I protest, squeezing his hand. “I was just… threatened.”
He nods. “That’s what I gathered. But I’m not trying to be a better son to your father. That sounds exhausting anyway.”
We cross a tiny footbridge that leads over a riverlet in the road. The honeysuckle along the path is fragrant, filling the air with a sweet smell.
“Then why were you so hostile to me?” I ask.
“Because I thought you pitied me. And I don’t take well to pity.”
“Why the fuck would I pity you?”
He gives me a look. “Come on. You know why.”
“I really don’t.”
He squeezes my hand and then lets it go, pausing for a moment at the end of the bridge.
“Because you come from money, and I don’t.”
“Torin, you know I don’t judge that—”
“But I do,” he interjects. “I judge. Too much. And I want it to stop.”
I’m stunned into silence. I nod, watching his face. “Wow.”
“I judged you for what you were born into, from the moment I met you. I never hated you, Noah, but I couldn’t understand you. I worked like hell for the resources I could get, but you had everything, and you just wanted to drink and party and get in trouble.”
“I know.”
“But I was wrong about that, too,” Torin says, his eyes regarding me intently. “I didn’t fucking know you. There’s so much under the surface, Noah. You’re so different from anyone else I’ve known. I swear there isn’t a judgmental bone in your body.”
His hand finds its way to my hip.
I take a step forward, marveling at the way he looks with the honeysuckle framing him from behind.
Like a fallen god.
Or a classic beauty.
My heart thuds.
Oh God, I like you too much.
I swallow, giving him a shallow nod. “It’s okay. I mean, I’ll still sock you in the face if you fuck with any of my friends, or something, but the past is the past.”
His expression suddenly shifts again, like a cloud passing.
And the silver of his eyes becomes radiant.
“And I’m still going to fuck with you, too. Mercilessly. Whenever I feel like it.”
“Psycho.”
“You love it.”
He leans in and catches me in a kiss. It’s unhurried and feels so unbelievably… normal.
The two of us, kissing each other, out in the world, not trapped within the four walls of my room.
It’s nice to pretend how good it could be.
If we weren’t… us.
“Come on,” he says, dragging his fingers through my hair before reaching back for my hand again.
We head down a side road I’ve never been on before. For a while, it’s a residential walk, past quaint little homes with overgrown yards. Then he takes a turn onto another cobblestone street that has a few small shops along the sides.
I catch the smell of roasting coffee in the air and I’m like Pavlov’s dog.
“Holy fuck, that is heavenly,” I tell him.
“Here,” he says, leading me to the quiet intersection, framed by maple trees. “They’re not connected, they’re actually just next to one another. But there’s a used bookstore and a coffee shop on the same corner.”
“How have I never seen this before?” I ask, marveling as we walk up to the cafe.
It’s called Star Point, and it has a navy banner in front.
“The cafe just opened a few weeks ago, apparently,” Torin says. “The bookstore’s been here longer.”
We head inside and I grab a cappuccino, and Torin gets a cold brew. We take our drinks over to the bookstore, and from the moment I walk in, I feel like I just entered a time capsule.
It’s magical inside. Tall shelves line every corner of the place, completely filling every inch with books. Each nook has a couple of people in it, browsing through the offerings, and there are incredible paned skylight windows along the angled ceiling, letting light filter through from above.