Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
We’d fight about Nora.
We’d fight about the lies.
Bitterness and guilt would rear their ugly heads more often than I ever would have imagined.
But through it all, we would be together. A team.
The way it was always supposed to be.
When she pulled away, I was breathless and smiling inside and out. Hope surged through my veins like the most potent drug I would ever need.
“Really?” She glared at me.
“What?”
She shot me an incredulous grin, revealing my secret gum trapped between her teeth.
“Hey! Give me that back, you little thief.” I plucked it from her mouth and popped it right back into mine, tucking it under my tongue for safe keeping.
Her glare turned into a scowl. “It’s strawberry.”
“Yeah? So?”
“What happened to watermelon?”
I waved a hand out in a grand gesture. “I’m broadening my horizons. Trying new things. Experiencing life.”
“Ah. That explains the porn.”
“Oh my God! You did not just bring that up again. It was one time, Thea. One time. Let it go.”
She started laughing. “Yeah, right. I’m not letting go of that kind of gold anytime soon.”
Right. I’d be two hundred and seventy-five years old and she’d roll over in the grave to make fun of me for it.
And because it was her…
I’d love every damn second of it.
Six years later…
All nine of the people who had been on the puddle-jumper plane from Atlanta to Clovert milled around us as the drone of an unanswered phone played in my ear. I huffed and hit the end button only to call again.
“It’s okay, babe,” Ramsey rumbled. “I’m sure he just got stuck in traffic or something.”
“Do you understand that Joe Hull does not do late? Like ever. Never ever.”
His lips twitched as he threw his arm around my shoulders. “I know. It’s always boggled my mind how he produced someone who is as habitually late as you are.”
I craned my head back and glared at him.
His only response was to blind me with the Ramsey Stewart special.
After we’d sold the house in Thomaston and moved to the mountains of Dahlonega, my life with Ramsey slowed down. Just as we’d planned, we got a secluded cabin and spent our days cursing the shitty internet while trying to work and our nights cuddled around the fireplace, getting to know each other again. It was the craziest thing, considering we were teens the last time we’d spent any significant amount of time together, but within a matter of days, everything fell back into place—kinda.
It was like the bare bones of our relationship was still there—strong as ever—but our emotions were all over the place.
We’d bicker and relentlessly pick on each other.
But he’d watch me from across the room, his brows drawn and storms brewing in his eyes as if he were waiting for me to disappear.
He hated sitting around the house all the time, but he’d get overwhelmed when we spent too much time exploring our new town.
He was the first one in bed each night, naked with a sci-fi book cradled in his hand. But as he fell asleep, he’d toss and turn while becoming reacquainted with sleeping on a soft mattress. Much like everything in our lives, it was a process. One he seemed to finally master when he learned the fine art of sliding into me from behind when he’d wake up anxious in the middle of the night.
For those first few months, having him back was so surreal. And beautiful. And perfect. And everything I’d dreamed of. But most of all, it was terrifying, because as the days passed, I was more and more convinced I was going to lose him again.
This meant, when we’d bicker and relentlessly pick on each other, I’d laugh until I’d burst into gut-wrenching sobs. He’d hold me and kiss me and reassure me, but the fear never truly left.
Then it was me chewing on my nails and watching him playing solitaire on the coffee table as if he were going to vanish with my next blink.
And at night, when I’d wake up with nightmares that he was gone again, he’d wrap me in his arms, whispering how much he loved me and vowing that he’d never leave. This was how I learned the fine art of climbing on top of him and riding him hard and steady until my sated mind allowed me to rest.
Nine months, one week, and four days after Ramsey had come home, we got into a huge argument over absolutely nothing. What can I say? The man had no clue how to load the dishwasher, turn the damn lights off, or transfer clothes into the dryer. As most arguments do, it spiraled and zigzagged through petty annoyances that had nothing to do with the reason the fight had started. Shortly after he’d shouted at me that I always parked crooked in the driveway, I slammed the bedroom door and went to bed that night alone.