Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Diego made us breakfast.
The words repeat as I sit here eating with him across the table from me. No amount of butter can save the toast, but I choke it down anyway. He either puts on a great face or isn’t at all fazed by the charred slabs of stone he made us in my toaster. The eggs are super overdone, but I don’t mind. The ham is hammy.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I tell him.
“No big deal,” he mumbles without looking, then chomps off another bite of ham.
Birds are on my front porch, which happens a lot in the early mornings, and I hear them chirping away as we eat in silence. I ask about the realtor situation. He tells me no one’s biting the bait yet. I nod as I cradle my cup of coffee and blow on it.
Yeah, he made coffee, too.
When I’m washing dishes afterwards, I notice the faucet isn’t dripping when I shut it off. Did Diego have something to do with it or is it just a coincidence?
“You working late?” I ask at the front door before he heads back to his place to get cleaned up and change.
“Dunno. Depends on the shop, I guess,” he mumbles back.
“Ah, okay, makes sense.”
“You?”
“Probably not. Unless Jacky-Ann’s back for round two.”
“Just tell the Nadine lady to get her own gift for her husband.”
“Be nice, Diego.”
“She acts like she’s queen of Texas.”
“Well, this part of Texas, she sorta is.”
“If you say so.”
We both glance off toward the street for some reason, as if we heard something. We didn’t. The wind is playing through the thin branches of the tree in my front yard, setting several of the leaves free as they drift by.
“Gonna need to rake this mess up soon,” mumbles Diego.
“I can do it after work.”
“I’ll help.”
“Alright.”
He crosses his arms. Still doesn’t leave my porch. I just linger next to him, front door left open behind me, wind playing in my hair now. The porch birds have relocated to the branches of the tree, chirping noisily and doing whatever birds do. Like gossiping about how stupid human beings are, probably.
“Anyway, guess I’m off,” he says, turning to me.
And I lean into him, aiming my lips instinctively toward his.
Then stop.
What the hell am I doing? Kissing my husband before sending him off to work?
Am I about to remind him to pick up the kids from school?
“Sorry,” I mumble, pulling away.
Until Diego chases my mouth, causing me to fall back against the wall, and presses his lips to mine.
And it isn’t just a peck.
It’s a kiss that literally silences the gossipy birds in the trees.
A kiss that stops the wind.
That makes me forget whether I’m even wearing clothes.
Then he ends it, pulling away, and looks into my eyes like he’s pissed.
“Sorry for what?” he grunts.
Smirks.
Then leaves the porch.
I stand there in a daze, watching him cross the grass, enter his house, and not once look back. I don’t realize my heart is jumping around excitedly in my chest, totally thrown off-balance by that man who just set me straight yet again.
He can burn my toast every damned morning if that’s the kiss I get to enjoy afterwards.
I’m still thinking about it even at the flower shop, touching my lips at the counter like they’re made of some alien material I can’t identify, reliving the porch kiss over and over.
Then I’m thinking about how I woke up, snuggled in my own blanket, head resting on a pillow.
Diego did that.
How did I fall asleep?
When did I lie down?
Did we both fall asleep on the couch cuddled together and I somehow missed it?
I don’t know.
I can’t get my act together any better when Cash comes in like he always does, slings his backpack behind the counter, then goes on dumping his teenage drama all over me. I’ve caught precisely zero percent of his story when he stops and says, “What’s with you today? Did something happen?”
I’m absentmindedly sucking on the end of my index finger. “Someone fixed my faucet,” I murmur back.
Cash blinks. “Congratulations …?”
I even ate Diego’s terrible eggs. Choked down his burnt toast.
And … liked it …?
“So what should I do about him?” asks Cash after delivering the rest of his story. “What would you do if you were me?”
My eyes spot an orchid.
Then imagine Diego when he was here, swiping it straight off the counter, claiming it.
The same way he claims me.
“Let him grab you and pin you against something,” I answer. Silence follows. I blink. Glance at Cash. Realize who I’m talking to. “Emotionally, I mean.”
“Oh.” He looks off. “Yeah, I get it.” He squints. “I think.”
My eyes land on the clock over the door. “Shit! I forgot about Bellamy.”
“Bella-who?”
I turn to Cash. “I’ll pay you for the day if you help me load my car for a delivery I’m twenty-minutes late on.”