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)
That’s not a good “one thing,” though.
But I can’t bring myself to tell her that. She’d find a way to refute it that would help me believe in myself. She’s full of miracles like that.
“I didn’t know I liked brutalist architecture until I saw this one building when we went to Cincinnati for a little vacation. We can’t really ever get away from the bakery, but it was a graduation gift. It just stopped me right in my tracks, and I wanted to know everything I could. An instant love was born. Until that day, I didn’t even know such a thing existed. I didn’t even know I was into architecture. I haven’t stopped loving it, researching it, and falling deeper and deeper. It’s a secret passion. I devour architecture books. And furniture. I really like that too. Urban decay. Abandoned houses. But brutalist architecture started it all, and I will always love it best.”
I force myself upright, taking the bottle of water with me. I down half of it and scrub a hand over my face. “I’m not architecture, though, Dulcie.”
“I know, sweetheart.” She rubs a small circle on my shoulder. “You’re not made of wood or stone or concrete. The soul of a building isn’t the same as the soul of a person.”
“I’m not feeling well,” I mumble.
She guides my hand with the remaining water up to my forehead and rests the other one at the back of my neck. “It’s just the anxiety.” She waits a heartbeat, then adds, “Isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s nothing medical.” I down the rest of the water. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry I scared you too. I need to slow down. This isn’t a race; it’s a marathon.”
“Slow down? Because I’m old?” I quip.
Her fingers bury into my hair at the base of my neck. It’s so good that I can’t stop myself from arching into her hand. “You’re incredibly fit. Way fitter than I am. In that metaphor, I don’t want to be chased. I don’t want to miss everything along the way. I just want to walk right beside you. Life can be both the journey and the destination, can’t it? I want to enjoy one with you and end up wherever we are meant to be. Together. Or separately. But okay with that and happy all the same.”
I lean forward, practicing regular breathing until I feel like a human being again and less like I’m suffocating and drowning. Dulcie is okay with the silence. She’s not tense or vibrating beside me.
“You’re tremendous,” I say hoarsely. She truly is, in every way.
“So are you,” she says in return.
The bus slows down. I can’t believe it’s been twenty minutes already. Maybe I didn’t hear right. Dulcie leaps up. “I’m going to tell the driver to go for food first. We can get takeout and eat on the bus.”
“What about your dress? I’m so sorry I soaked you. That was a rookie mistake.”
“The champagne was probably defective.” She laughs. “Food first. I don’t mind looking a little bedraggled. Getting you fed and watered takes priority over laundry.”
“That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
She winks at me, then goes to ask the driver to find somewhere we can order from. Somewhere he likes, she’s quick to add. He needs a break, too, as he’s doing all the work. We’re just riding along.
She was right when she said there’s nothing more attractive than kindness. Dulcie is one of those people who thinks about everyone else before she thinks of herself.
Case in point, me. When she sits down beside me, she has another bottle of water, and she passes it over.
“My answer is yes,” I say brokenly. I swallow and clear my throat. “It sounds like I’m playing some kind of game here. I’m sorry.”
She takes my hand and folds it on her knee between both of hers. “It doesn’t. Everything you communicated was expressed well, and it all made sense. We’re going to slow down. That’s the mature way to handle this.” She squeezes my hand. “We’re going to be okay.” She phrases it half with solid conviction and half like a question.
I give her the only answer I can, but it’s straight from my bruised, healing, and hopeful heart. “Yes, we will.”
Chapter ten
Dulcie
Pulling up to the bakery in a party bus looks a little bit strange, I’m sure, but then, it’s not like this is a surprise. I’ve been texting with my mom and dad in a group text the whole way home, giving them updates on our ETA. For once, neither of them inundated me with long, essay-like messages. They used to do that when I was away at college. My dad has even learned how to use emojis, and he gave me a few thumbs up and happy faces. They’ve kept what they’re really feeling out of it, probably so they won’t send my anxiety out of control.