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)
“But your bakery is a family tradition.”
“It is, but my parents wanted something else for me. They’ve never made a secret of that. It’s not just that I’m a daughter.” I lapse into silence because I’ve thought endlessly about this, basically my whole life, and I still can’t figure out why exactly that is, other than surface-level practicality. If you have a business degree, your chances of finding a job are always quite good.
He fish-mouths while he collects himself and processes that. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him open and close his lips like that. It gets hotter every single time, and I have to force myself to look elsewhere before my panties have some kind of natural disaster. Fire or flood, I only have this pair left. When I said last change of clothes, I meant last of everything. The little cottage had running water but no washer or dryer, and finding a laundromat wasn’t an issue until it was, but by then, my car had gone the way of… well, the tree.
“I remember even when I was there, your parents talked about their future children not having to inherit the bakery. They wanted it to be a choice.” His wince cuts through me.
Age is just whatever. It matters, but it doesn’t have to be everything. This is me refusing to take it as a hard no.
“Yeah, about that… I’ve kind of ceased to be weirded out by it. Not that I ever was. So what if you were on this earth long before I was even in existence? It doesn’t bother me. And it doesn’t change the fact that our body chemistry is grade A hot, or that you’re irresistibly beautiful on the inside and outside.”
“You’re doing this for your father. Or for you too?” Look at him go, being a master of deflection.
I’m going to circle around back to my original point in a minute. “The bakery is a family tradition. The only thing I can think of, after literally years of time to process it, is that my parents wanted more for me. The bakery ties them to Ohio, and they can’t go see the world. They’ve had to sacrifice all the time. My mom thinks I don’t fully understand that, and she’s right. I haven’t lived all that they’ve lived. I can understand why she’d want me to chase dreams and not anchor myself down in chains. It’s also a mental thing. She’s had to watch my dad deteriorate over the years. Running a business is stressful. You live with it twenty-four seven, and you don’t stop thinking about it when you shut the lights off at night.”
“That’s partly my fault,” he mutters.
“Nothing is your fault.” I’ve never been more sincere about anything in my life. “I want you to understand that.”
He makes a noise in his throat that tells me he still has a healthy amount of self-blame that he’s not going to let go of.
“Have you read other philosophy or poems?” He steers the conversation away from himself again. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. And you’re right. I need to stop hiding. I miss being out in the world. I want to hear more about what you think. It’s… inspiring.”
“Is it hot?” I tease.
“Dulcie…”
Sorry. It was the perfect opportunity to circle back around. “I won’t tell you a single thing until you’re honest with me. Opening my soul up and bleeding it out for you isn’t going to happen if it’s not reciprocal.”
His brows crash down as his eyes darken. The lighting reflects off of them, glinting a stark blue on his blown pupils. “Truly?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you anyway.” I settle back against the bench seat and tuck the bottle beside me. “You’re a safe person, Luca. And I admire that so much about you. You listen. You’re a thinker. A still waters run deep kind of human, which is so fucking rare.”
He bows his head, obviously deeply uncomfortable with praise and compliments.
“Intelligence is a major turn-on. That and kindness. Humor too. Have I said these things before? I distinctly remember telling you that you’re pretty much my dream man.”
“Stop it.”
“Okay fine.” My backpack and suitcase are tucked at the front wall of the bus. I didn’t want them to be placed underneath in the luggage compartment. The driver offered when Luca picked me up, but I declined. I have a ratty old notebook in the same compartment as my laptop. It’s been with me since high school, but it’s nothing special. Just a composition book with a plain blue cover. I sit back down with it and flip through the pages while Luca’s gaze burns a hole through me. I don’t think he was expecting me to pull out the big guns. I like the element of surprise. “Slightly depressing, funny, a little bit unhinged, or motivational?”