Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
And a very familiar couch was being carried inside.
There was no good reason for the way my heart sank that she hadn’t told me she’d made the decision, that she was going to be moving in. Other than, of course, all those pesky unrequited feelings I was clearly still dealing with with regarding her.
I sighed, forcing myself to move away from the window.
If she wanted to tell me, she would have told me.
Clearly, she wanted to start over without any attachments to Matthew and all his lies—lies I’d been implicated in. Even if I’d been as in the dark as she’d been, I was still a reminder of all of it.
I wasn’t going to make that transition harder for her by doing something desperately needy like going out there to greet her.
Instead, I made sure I didn’t see her, then made my way out, deciding to spend the day catching up on errands I’d let slide all month while trying to find anything on the car that did the drive-by. To no avail.
By the time I made it back home—arms loaded down with dry cleaning bags and groceries—the moving truck seemed long gone.
I hated that I looked for Blair through the lobby and hesitated with my finger over her floor before punching in my own instead.
The thing I liked best about these condos when I first moved in—the thick walls, the great insulation, things that kept the city sounds outside where they belonged—were the very things I cursed when I could hear nothing from above me. No moving around, no music, nothing.
“Get a fucking grip,” I grumbled as I gathered the ingredients to throw dinner together.
It was right then that I heard a knock on the door.
My lips curved up, mentally swearing that my brothers could sense when I was about to cook something and made their way over to mooch off me instead of cooking for themselves.
Lord knew I’d forced all of them to learn the basics, rambling off things about “life skills” being mandatory (cleaning and laundry included) while they grumbled and dragged their feet.
“I haven’t even gotten started yet,” I called as I reached to slide the locks and pull the door open.
But it wasn’t Leo, Gav, or Zeno at the door.
It was Blair.
She stood there in a pair of tan high-waisted slacks and a tight black top with a square neckline. Her hair was pulled back. Understated golden loops were at her earlobes. Her trademark locket was around her neck.
She looked effortlessly classy and put together.
And she had an olive green enameled cast iron roasting pan in her hands, top still on to keep in the heat.
“I know this is Manhattan and new-neighbor rules don’t apply,” she said, giving me a slightly unsure smile. “But I feel like this situation is different.”
“I think I’m the one who is supposed to bring you a welcome gift,” I told her, stepping back so she could move inside.
“Well, you didn’t know I was here,” she said, walking into my kitchen, her low heels clicking across the hardwood floors as she went. It was absurd, but I really loved that sound. Especially when she was making it.
“So, what did you cook?” I asked as she placed the pan on the wooden cutting board I’d set out to start chopping vegetables.
“Don’t feel obligated to eat it,” she said, something close to insecurity slipping into her voice. “I see you were already planning something else. I know my cooking isn’t for everyone. I used to have to force Matthew to even try anything I made. He usually got fast food instead.”
I didn’t give a fuck if she burnt it all to hell; I was going to eat everything on my plate. Then ask for seconds.
“Of course I’ll eat it. It’s nice not to have to cook for a change,” I said, coming up to the end of the island as she reached for the lid and pulled it off.
“It’s lemon and herb chicken over rice. With asparagus. Because, well, vegetables.”
There it was again. The self-doubt.
Put there, I was sure, by Matt.
Who had no fucking idea how good he had it.
“Smells amazing,” I told her, meaning it. “Did you eat already?”
“I, uh, saved a serving.”
I wasn’t sure if she was being honest about that. The tray looked full. Six chicken breasts and a ton of rice and veg filled the pan.
Maybe she just didn’t want to make it seem like she was trying to invite herself to dinner.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind company if you don’t have plans. I think I have the perfect Albariño to go with this.”
“You drink wine?” she asked, a hint of wonder in her voice.
Matt was a beer or vodka guy.
I’d gotten many a snide comment from him if he saw me having wine with dinner.
“Of course,” I said, grabbing the bottle of white that I knew would have a bright, citrus taste to it. “The plates are right next to the stove,” I told her as I twisted the screw into the cork.