Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“I’m not doing this in a parking lot,” he says. “You’re so cold you’re shivering.”
It’s not the chilly night air that has me shaking in my sneakers, but I don’t bother arguing.
He follows closely as I walk to the truck and reaches past me to open the door.
A giant, bushy bouquet of red roses wrapped in black metallic paper rests on the passenger side. I blink and stare, my eyes watering—from the cold, of course.
He reaches past me and gathers the arrangement in one big fist. “It’s too cold for them. It probably wasn’t my best idea,” he says, pushing them toward me.
“They’re beautiful.” I take the flowers, then notice the small, fluffy black crow ornament nestled in the leaves. “Oh, how cute!”
He half shrugs. “I had to add it when I saw it at the counter.”
Finally, I meet his eyes. “Thank you.”
Clutching the bouquet in one hand, I hoist myself into the cab of the truck, then set it on my lap. Once we’re both inside, he starts the engine and cranks the heat all the way up. Warm air blasts over us.
“Better?” he asks, his voice lifting above the hum of the heater.
He’s right, I’m freezing. I hold my hands in front of the warm vent, rubbing them together. “Yes, thank you.”
“Good.” He slips his hand inside his coat pocket and pulls out my letter.
My eyes bug. He unfolds it and holds it out while I stare.
“Are you planning to go through it line by line?” I ask, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“If we need to, yeah.” He shakes the paper like he’s adding an exclamation point to his answer. “‘I’m not good at saying goodbye,’” he reads in a flat tone. “Yeah, no shit. Couldn’t even hand me the damn letter or slip it under the door of the shop. You had Mrs. Applewood give it to me.”
I wince. That had been a shitty, cowardly way to do it. But I knew damn well if I saw him in person, I would’ve ripped up the letter. I can’t admit that to him, though.
“Are you…mad about that? Did I embarrass you or something?”
“No.” He scowls, then continues reading, “‘Thank you for everything you did for me—’”
“Stop it! You don’t need to read my own words back to me. I know what I wrote.”
“If I matter to you, why did you leave?” he asks.
I turn in my seat, tucking my leg under me, so I’m facing him. Time to rip off the band-aid and be blunt. “Declan,” I say in my most reasonable tone. “I told you my situation. I can’t have children.”
He stares at me for the longest moment in history. “So?”
I swallow hard and try to remove my emotions from the conversation. “The curse is broken now, right?”
“Yes,” he answers slowly, cautious, as if he’s worried I’m leading him into a trap.
“You told me you never wanted children because of the curse. You didn’t want to pass it on to another generation of Sterlings.”
His eyebrows dip down and he’s silent for a few beats. “And you think now that I’m free I want to, what? Spread my seed everywhere?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Well, I wasn’t going to put it that way, but yes. You have options now. You can choose anything you want.”
“Yes,” he says, his voice tight with restraint. “And I choose you.”
My heart thumps faster, but it also knows how much more painful it will be later when he changes his mind. “You haven’t had enough time to—”
“To know what I want?” He reaches out and brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “Yes, I have. I want you. In my life, my house, my bed, on the back of my bike, riding shotgun in the truck.” He pats the seat as if he means this truck, right now. “I want to listen to you tell me everything about crows while I cook us breakfast. I want to listen to all your theories about your next investigation, and the one after that, and the one after that.”
His words heal old wounds deep in my soul, but I’m still scared to let hope rule me. “You have that big, beautiful, old home. Your family home. You can fill it with kids, a—”
“Emery.” His stern tone snaps my mouth shut. “I’ve hated that house my whole life. As a kid, I hated it. The last thing I’d ever want to do is sling that albatross around a kid’s neck.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “The only time it felt lighter and brighter is when you were there with me.”
His declaration pokes hard between my ribs. My heart wants to leap into his hands and trust he won’t crush it. He might think I’m what he wants now, but what about a few years down the road when he starts to realize all the things he can’t have?