Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
My stomach sinks. My fingers hover over the delete button.
I don’t press it. But I want to.
I want to so freaking bad.
Instead, I decide to work out my angst and dive back into the flower bed that circles a large oak tree.
Another hour under my belt and I have accomplished my goals. Once Pennsylvania decides not to have any more frost, I’m ready to do my spring plantings.
I pick up Buttermilk, holding his squirming, kicking body, clearly displeased we’re going inside. “Chill out, little dude. The weather’s turning nicer and there will be more romps for you.” He grabs hold of the zipper on my jacket and yanks hard. “But not if you continue to be an asshole.”
Inside, I kick off my mud-caked shoes and gently deposit the hell beast on the floor. I walk into my living room and slump onto the couch. Buttermilk follows and hops up onto my lap, our argument of ten seconds ago forgotten.
He curls up down near my knees like a therapy pet with commitment issues. I stroke his ears absently and open my text thread with Lucky.
His last message is still sitting at the top. Twenty-four hours, woman. And then I’m back to steal more of your bagels and all of your time.
Oh boy, does my heart flip every time I read that. Calling me woman like it’s a warning that I only belong to him.
Below it are more messages from the last couple of days, snippets that tighten my chest in the best way.
Okay… I’ve never admitted this before to anyone but… I think I miss you.
Still thinking about your mouth and the way it… never mind… too dirty.
You’re my favorite notification. Don’t tell the Titans’ PR team—they’re already jealous.
I scroll through them, one by one, like little breadcrumbs back to a place where I feel grounded. Lucky may not have had a serious relationship before, but lord almighty, does he know how to woo a girl. I’ve never had a man be so attentive to my emotional grounding while continuing to make me laugh and smile.
He’s been dedicated to keeping a connection. Lucky and I are navigating a long-distance relationship and I think it’s crucial for partners to nurture the commitment by any means necessary. And he is doing the work.
For Lucky, he’s become a master of the text message and he’s not shy about letting me know his thoughts. I’m a little more awkward, but I’m sure I’ll improve. I want to be as good at this as he is so he can feel the way I do.
My fingers move slowly over the keyboard, and I type, Today was dumb. I miss you.
Then, after a second, an embarrassing admission. Also I may have killed a tulip by accident and now I need an emotional support horticulturist.
I hit send before I can overthink it. The typing bubble appears almost instantly. It blinks and blinks and blinks. I attempt to wait patiently as Buttermilk shifts on my lap, rolling closer to my stomach. I glance down at him. “I don’t know what he sees in me, Butters. He’s… Lucky Freakin’ Branson. And I’m out here wrestling with root rot and impostor syndrome.”
My rabbit thumps once. Probably because I stopped petting him, but I’ll take it as encouragement.
I sigh, resting my head against the back of the couch. “I mean, I like him. A lot. It’s kind of terrifying how much. It makes me have so many insecurities. Like… does he still want me when the cameras are off? When I’m not TikTok-ing about our progress and tagging him in every update? And why am I perpetually worrying about this when I know deep down, Lucky isn’t just here for the follows?”
My phone chimes and I pick it up. You are the hottest tulip murderer I’ve ever seen. Also, hang tight. I’m bringing you a shovel and a shamrock plant when I get back. Miss you like mad.
Tears prick my eyes and I swipe at them before they can fall. Not because I’m sad. Because I feel seen. Loved. Or at least… very nearly.
I kiss the top of Buttermilk’s head and whisper, “He’s totally the real deal so just enjoy it, Win.”
CHAPTER 25
Winnie
I clutch the bottle of wine like it’s my security blanket and not just a moderately priced cabernet I picked up at the fancy grocery store near Lucky’s condo. My palms are sweating.
Which is ridiculous.
I am a grown woman.
I’ve met parents before.
But never his.
Lucky opens the door before I can knock. He’s barefoot, wearing jeans and a soft black Henley that I’m ninety percent sure exists just to test my ability to stay upright. He smiles slow and sweet the second he sees me.
“You brought wine.” He leans in to kiss me. “She’s going to love you already.”
“I googled Italian moms plus dinner etiquette and wine was the number one recommendation, so I’m hoping I pass.”