Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
It’s official. I’ve been sucked into her orbit, and I’m drowning.
Also? I’m fucked.
“Nah.” I take a step back, putting much-needed distance between us. It’s me. I don’t trust myself. Not when I was just close enough to kiss her. Not when I wanted it down to my very bones. “He would have been hurt if I was hurt and angry if I was angry, but I went straight from the kitchen out into the woods with the jewelry to hide for the birds. I pulled weeds in the garden when I was done with that, then went straight to the gym, grabbed some leftovers out of the fridge after, and went to my room. Adam is used to me preferring my own company. It’s usually because I’m all up in my head, and by head, he’d probably say head up my arse.”
She smiles. It’s small, but soft and a little bit shy. “I like that you say arse. It’s very exotic of you.”
“The music rubs off, I guess. I’ve been watching a lot of old interviews too. I wish I had a cool British accent. It sounds very exotic.”
“You don’t need it to be cool. Or exotic. I think you’re very mysterious already. And by the way, do you have any idea how cute it is that you can admit your love of bird watching and gardening and commit your whole soul to dancing in your kitchen, even when someone else is watching? I’d never be able to do that.”
“Yeah.” You make the impossible seem possible. You make me feel alive again.
I grasp a handful of my hair and yank. It’s my go-to for self-soothing, frustration, anger, sorrow, and easing my nerves. It’s a wonder I have any hair at all.
It’s not up to her to do that for me. I should have done that for myself a long time ago.
“I’m glad he wasn’t mad,” she murmurs, angling toward the window to watch Adam get out of the car and survey the damage to the rental car. “He warned me not to do anything to harm you. But not in a scary or threatening way. It was more like he was begging me not to.”
“Probably because he lives with me, and he’s technically employed by my parents, so when I’m in a shit mood, he feels like he’s failing at his profession even when it has nothing to do with him. He likes giving them positive quarterly progress reports.”
“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” She sounds skeptical.
“It’s all very true,” I tell her.
“Down to the progress reports?”
“Definitely those. They’re verbal, though, not printed out.”
“As someone who loves her family very much, I find it encouraging that your parents love you enough to find someone for you when you wanted to shut the world out the most,” she says.
“I had medical needs,” I point out.
“I don’t think that was it. They love you, and you love them. You didn’t shut them down or shut them out. I’m really glad you have that. I know so many people who struggle with their family, and it’s the worst thing ever. I… it’s maybe even worse than having your face rearranged by a kitchen implement.”
There it is. Her first stab at the witty, sarcastic humor that got me right from the start. No one is brave enough to talk like that. Honesty is a rare commodity. It’s as refreshing as the smell of rain that fills up the cabin when Dulcie moves to the door and slowly opens it.
“I guess you should probably go since Adam’s here.” She struggles to hide her sadness and disappointment, and she fails. I get it. I’d like a few more minutes with her too. “Do you want some pizza for the road?”
I answer, “Uh, sure. Thank you.”
She grabs two paper plates from the cupboard and piles slices on with one hand, keeping her wounded one away. Then, she makes a pizza sandwich with the other plate on top of the stack. “Sorry. That’s all I have. No takeout containers or bags. I guess you’re supposed to bring that yourself.”
I take it from her, our fingers brushing and reigniting the fizzing current in my bloodstream.
“Don’t worry about the rental,” I tell her again. I want to make absolutely sure she doesn’t go out there after I’m done and hurt herself on broken glass or try to clean up the mess.
“You have my number. I left it on the paper,” she says.
“Yes.” I have it tucked safely in my wallet, along with the land location and fire number for this place.
“I’m going to call the owners and tell them what happened. I’ll leave them the option of getting someone to come out here, but if they don’t, I’ll have to make some calls.”
“I could do that,” I offer.
“You could, but it’s not your responsibility.”