Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
There were three important things I learned about Murphy Paddon that day. One: He knew where to get the best Banh Mi sandwich in Minnesota. Two: He carried snacks for the squirrels in his pockets. Three: He organized the cart returns in the grocery store parking lot.
Food connoisseur.
Animal lover.
Perfectionist.
“Not cool,” I said, resting a hand on my flipped-out hip when he nested the carts in a perfect line.
“What’s not cool? Helping the store out?” He laughed.
“Those employees probably fight over who gets to bring in the carts because it means they get outside in the sun and fresh air for a while. But now you’ve done half their job, which means less time outside.”
“Get your sexy ass in the car and stop pestering me about my stellar manners.”
I stood at the end of the cart return checking my nails as if his command meant nothing.
“I bet you were spanked a lot as a child,” he said, after pushing the last cart into the others.
“Why would you say that?” I glanced up just as he grabbed my arm and the back sides of my legs.
“Murphy!” I squealed when he hoisted me over his shoulder.
“Because,” he swatted my ass, “you can be too sassy for your own good.”
“Put me down! This is embarrassing.”
He continued toward his Explorer and placed me on my feet at the front passenger door. I scowled while straightening my shirt and righting my shorts. When I opened my mouth to give him another round of “sass,” he grabbed my face and kissed me.
No “hi.” No warning. Just his tongue sliding past my lips. I moaned as it scraped along the roof of my mouth. The warm door met my back as his body pressed against mine. My heart ached knowing our time was ending. And then it ached even more as memories of why it had to end seeped through the walls I’d built around the wreckage.
Our kiss slowed, and his lips brushed along my cheek as his hands threaded through my hair, tugging at the roots. “I don’t want you to go,” he whispered.
I knew that. And I didn’t want to leave Minneapolis, the quaint little apartment, Palmer the resident cat, or the woodturner with a killer smile and equally sublime dance moves. Reality was overrated. But the only way to escape it forever was to leave the world behind. Since I chose life, I couldn’t stay with Murphy, but I hated to go. And the realm between what was real and what was not wasn’t strong enough to contain my grief.
“You can’t ask me to stay,” I said in an equally agonizing whisper. “And you can’t love me.”
Murphy paused. “I’m not asking you to stay. I’m just asking that you never fucking forget that I don’t want you to go.”
I wasn’t sure if the heart could grieve two things at once. What if I had to let go of one to let go of the other? I blinked back the tears brimming in my burning eyes, and I wrapped my arms around his neck to hug him as hard as possible. He held me just as tightly. And I don’t know how long we stood in the parking lot like this. It felt like an infinite moment, and I knew those arms were the only things holding me together.
After a silent, melancholy drive back to his place, we put away the groceries, and I pulled out a skillet to start dinner.
“It’s my place,” he said.
I glanced over at him. He had his shoulder resting against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest, face pensive.
“What?”
“This is my place,” he said in a chiding tone.
I laughed nervously, drizzling oil into the pan. “I’m aware.”
“I make the rules here. They’re in the binder on the coffee table.”
“I’m aware of that too.” I capped the oil and risked another glance at him.
The muscles in his jaw flexed. “So if I say you’re not allowed to cook for me and then just leave, you have to obey.”
Again, I managed a tiny, nervous laugh as my insides twisted. “Is that so?”
“Yes. And you can’t befriend Palmer and just leave.”
“Mur—”
“And you can’t step all over my toes while I teach you to dance and then just leave.” His face turned red as his volume escalated.
I had no more nervous laughs to offer, just trepidation gripping my chest.
“You can’t let me touch you and kiss you and”—he swallowed hard—“be inside of you and just. Fucking. Leave!” His hands balled into fists.
The already shattered pieces of my heart turned to dust. The nauseating whoosh of blood echoed in my ears. I wasn’t scared of him. I was scared of all the feelings pouring out of him in waves so big I knew they would suffocate me.
In the next blink, several tears slid down my face. “I told you—”