Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I don’t say it out loud, but I like the idea of her making something just for me. I like it even more that she’s channeling her energy into something that has nothing to do with her ex.
My phone buzzes on the counter, screen lighting up with the building’s front desk number, just as I’m wiping out my shaker.
I swipe to answer. “Sanderson.”
“Morning, Mr. Sanderson,” Tommy says. “I got a delivery here for Miss Monroe. You want me to bring it up?”
I glance toward the hallway where Lilah disappeared a minute ago. “Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks, man.”
“No problem. Be there in five.”
I hang up just as Lilah walks back into the kitchen, barefoot and holding a small spiral notebook in her hand.
“Who was that?” she asks.
“Tommy. He’s bringing something up for you.”
She stops short and frowns. “For me?”
I nod. “Yeah. He said something about a delivery under your name.”
Her eyes flicker with confusion for a beat before she stills. “Oh. Devon must’ve sent my stuff.”
I open my mouth, unsure what I’m going to say, but the elevator dings before I can get a word out. A second later, the doors slide open and there’s Tommy, maneuvering a dolly stacked with boxes.
“Morning,” he says, offering a polite nod as he wheels them inside. Two guys follow with their own stacks. “Looks like you got a whole apartment in here.”
Lilah folds her arms tightly across her chest, gaze locked on the boxes. Her name is scrawled across the side in thick black marker.
“Thanks, Tommy,” I say, giving him a tip of my chin as he backs toward the elevator.
“We’ve got another load and then we’ll be out of your hair. Let me know if you need help getting rid of the cardboard later.”
When the elevator doors slide shut, I turn back to Lilah. She hasn’t moved an inch.
“I don’t know why it’s hitting all over again,” she whispers. “I mean, we broke up. It’s over. But seeing it all boxed up like a return shipment is hard.”
Something inside me twists at the expression on her face. Like the delivery is somehow proof of her failure.
“It’s just stuff,” I say quietly. “Not your life. Not you. Just grab whatever you need, and we’ll put the rest in one of the spare rooms until you’re ready to tackle it.”
She gives a small nod, but her jaw tightens. “It just feels like a lot.”
“Hey,” I say, stepping in and cupping her face. Her eyes meet mine, shiny and uncertain. “You trusted someone who didn’t deserve it. That’s on him, not you. Maybe you don’t have a plan yet, but you will. You always land on your feet. And in the meantime, you’ve got me.”
Her throat works around a swallow. “You really mean that?”
“Yeah, lucky charm. I’ve got you. Always.”
She steps into me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her face against me. I hold her tight, one hand sliding into her hair, the other resting over her back.
For a long moment, neither of us moves as the boxes sit untouched a few feet away.
It’s only in my arms that Lilah seems to release the weight she’s been carrying.
She lets out an exhale, followed by a quiet, self-conscious laugh. “Okay. I need to find my clothes.” She untangles herself from me before kneeling next to one of the boxes labeled “closet stuff.” Her fingers work at the packing tape.
I grab a box cutter from the drawer and crouch beside her. “Here,” I offer, slicing open the top.
Inside are folded jeans, a few blouses, and an old Wildcats hoodie from our college days. She pulls it out, eyes widening.
“I forgot about this,” she murmurs, fingers smoothing over the faded fabric.
She pulls out a small jewelry box and sets it aside before digging deeper and freezing.
“Oh my God.”
“What is it?”
She lifts out a slightly beat-up photo frame, and my heart skips a beat.
It’s a picture of us in our dorm hallway sophomore year of college. I’ve got an arm slung around her shoulder, and we’re both laughing. Our eyes are squinted and heads thrown back. There’s a smear of frosting on her cheek and a plastic tiara on my head from a prank someone pulled during my birthday.
We were so damn young.
“I haven’t seen this in years,” she whispers, running her thumb over the glass. “I used to keep it on my desk when I started law school.”
“You kept it all this time?” I ask, trying to play it cool even though my heart is doing somersaults behind my rib cage.
She nods. “You’ve always been a constant presence in my life. I guess this picture reminded me of that.”
Emotion swells inside me.
Without thinking, I take the frame from her and walk over to the console table by the window before carefully setting it down.
Her head tilts as she watches me. “What are you doing?”