Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“And you're ready to give up your… job?" he asks.
"To go part time," I say. My business plan is reasonable. It assumes we won’t be in the black for a few years. But I’m ready to cut back on luxuries to make it work. Take on half the client load so I have more time for building something new.
If Mom does offer my inheritance now—
That’s start up cash and a few years to pay the bills. But I can’t count on that. She very well may stick with her edict to wait to deliver it as a wedding present.
He digs into the cake and takes a bite. He studies it slowly, noting the flavors, not at all pleased.
I try it too. There's nothing terrible about the cake, but it's not what I remember from our childhood.
It's not fantastic.
It's not even great.
"It's not good enough for her." He looks at the box with uncertainty.
"It's inspired by the cake Mom made, right?" I ask.
He nods.
"So why don't we replicate it?" I say. "You and me and one of her recipes."
"I don't have any."
"I do."
He raises a brow. Mom is secretive about her recipes. She doesn't give them to anyone. If she gave them to me, she might actually, you know, like me more.
But that isn't it. "I copied them after Dad died. Just in case she was too stubborn to leave them to either of us."
He chuckles. "She'll kill you if she finds out."
"I trust you not to rat."
"Have I ever?" he asks.
And I have to give him that. As difficult as he's been my entire life, he's never once told our parents one of our secrets.
We dump the cake and the coffee, climb into the car, head to the store, then to my apartment.
I start to set up in the kitchen.
He uses the bathroom.
And then he's straight to the point. Of course.
"Why don't I see any of Ivy's stuff here?" he asks.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Romeo
"What do you mean?" I play through our meeting here last weekend. Ivy must have left something.
A pair of underwear.
A box of tea.
Some sign she once visited this place.
After all, she has been here.
And she's been in a relationship before. She would have thought about this.
Unless it's too early.
When do people do these things, anyway?
"In the bathroom," he says. "There's only one toothbrush. And there's no shampoo for someone with her hair texture."
"You're an expert now?" I ask.
"Since Cynthia moved in, yes."
Cynthia has thick curls. Ivy has almost straight hair. They have different hair textures. How could he possibly know what Ivy needs?
Or is it simply knowing she needs something different. I suppose my hair is a lot thicker than Ivy’s.
My brother does have the steady-girlfriend thing down.
Daniel moves into the kitchen and glances at the cabinets behind me. He doesn't say I bet there's nothing in there either. He lets his stare suggest it.
Is he right?
Is there nothing of hers here?
No. I bought tea for her. And gin.
"She's divorced," I say.
"And?" he asks.
"She's not in a rush to share space with someone again." That much is true. At least, as far as I've picked up. "She was relieved Mom asked us to stay in separate rooms, actually."
"She doesn't sleep over?" he asks.
"She does," I say. "But she's scared to start integrate our lives."
"And none of it is coming from you?" he asks.
"At first, I was surprised," I say. "You know me. Used to women wanting more. Then, I was relieved. Then, pretty fast, I was disappointed." The words feel true. Sure, I'm not really offering Ivy space in my apartment. She isn't really refusing to leave a toothpaste here.
But other parts are true.
She isn't letting me into her heart.
She isn't opening up.
But then—
Am I giving her the space? Am I leading by example?
Maybe I'm the one who isn't giving Ivy enough of myself.
"Damn, Rome, you… you really like her," he says.
"I told you," I say.
"I'm sorry," he says. "That she's hesitant."
"Thanks." I don't know what to make of the interaction. I haven't felt my brother's sympathy in a long time. "It's tough. I don't want to scare her off, but, like you said, I really like her. And I, well, I haven't done this a lot. I'm not good at it."
"She seems comfortable with you," he says.
"I like to think so."
"Slow is good sometimes," he says. "Gives you more time to enjoy the early stages."
"Do you miss that?" I ask. "With Cynthia?"
"Some parts." He moves into the kitchen and starts unpacking the groceries. He's already on to a new subject. He's already accepting my explanation.
It's almost too easy.
No. It is too easy.
There's still something missing here. Something I need to handle.
What Mom said. What Ivy noticed. The simple fact I've ignored for the last decade:
My brother worries his fiancée wants me.
He's wrong.
But I can't exactly come out and say, no, you're wrong, she doesn't want me casually. That will only draw attention to the situation. Make it clear I notice her. Notice our chemistry.