Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
But he didn’t say it in a tone like it was fine at all. He said it like he was disappointed.
And because the past few weeks hadn’t been enough of a colossal mindfuck, I was somehow disappointed that he was disappointed by the idea of my presence in my own damn restaurant.
Sweet baby Jesus in a manger. I needed to schedule an appointment with my therapist ASAP.
It was already after six and my aching muscles had a hot date with my bathtub and a glass of wine before bed. I didn’t have the time to analyze Truett’s emotional grid. Paint was drying and my brain was rotting. Time to get back to work.
The next hour was strange. Actually, strange was a gross understatement. It was epically strange. Twilight-Zone-meets-Black-Mirror strange.
I put my earbuds in and blasted my favorite early 2000s R&B playlist, effectively ending any possible conversation, but out of the corner of my eye, I watched him.
Fidgeting.
Shifting.
Closing his eyes.
Opening them.
Shaking his head.
His lips moved with mumbled curses, and he cracked his neck, wrists, fingers, and everything else with a joint.
He was so obviously uncomfortable, and I couldn’t figure out why he didn’t just leave.
And then I’d catch him watching me.
Eyes soft.
Body relaxed.
An almost imperceptible smile lifting one side of his mouth.
There was something so undeniably beautiful about that man’s smile, no matter how slight it might have been.
I tried to focus on the task at hand, but more than once, I found myself painting over the same area while spying on him with my peripheral vision.
Me watching him. Him watching me. Me watching him watching me. It was a ridiculous cycle of Peeping Toms, trying to out peep each other.
Eventually, I ran out of primer and went to grab one from the storage room.
When I returned, his booth was empty.
His quiet departure should have been a relief. We didn’t have to do the whole awkward goodbye where we stood there, debating between the hug or handshake before landing on a curt nod and uncomfortable smiles. But I would have taken awkward any day over the hollow ache in my chest as I stared at that empty booth.
I glanced at my watch.
7:01 and Truett West was a ghost all over again.
Truett
“I have to go, but I miss you!” Kaitlyn said.
My heart wrenched as I set my coffee on my desk and sighed. “I miss you too, baby.”
“Maybe I can come see you soon.”
I grinned. “That would be incredible.”
The camera shook as she bounced with excitement. “Mommy said I would have to fly on a plane. I’ve never done that!”
“You would love it. The clouds are awesome.”
Her eyes flared wide. “Oh, can I touch the clouds in an airplane?”
I chuckled. “No, but you get to eat pretzels and drink juice.”
Propping her hand under her chin, she wrinkled her nose. “I wonder what clouds taste like?”
In an effort not to break her heart with the answer, I shifted gears. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready to leave?”
“Kaitlyn Haven West,” her mom called from somewhere in the distance. “You better have your shoes on already.”
Kaitlyn flashed me an eek face. “Uh oh! Gotta go, Daddy. I love you.” She blew kisses and I caught each and every one of them.
“Love you too, baby. Have a good day at school!”
“Byeeeeeeee,” she called.
I sagged in my office chair. My sweet portion of the week was officially done, so I waited for the paralyzing sour of what was to come that afternoon to engulf me.
While the week had passed with a predicable familiarity, nothing was the same anymore. I was going crazy, pent up like a volcano ready to erupt. I’d been short with everyone at work. Shit that had always been annoying—but pretty typical in my line of work—suddenly felt like sandpaper to my patience. I’d shredded three résumés, rejected two job offers, and hung up on the hiring manager when they included free water in the break room as part of their benefits package.
Okay, fine. They deserved that one, but I was usually more professional about it.
I knew it was bad though when I got annoyed with a visually impaired caller who spent a few extra minutes venting about the similarity of the packaging with sugar-free and regular pudding. Again, nothing unusual there. Well, nothing besides the fact that Gwendolyn Pierce had stormed into my life, rocking me to the core, and I was acting like a petulant child because I had no idea how to cope with it.
Ha! Imagine that. Me. The king of coping mechanisms—both healthy and royally fucked up—yet a five-eight brunette had thrown me completely off-kilter.
Unfortunately for me, her ability to hijack my emotions with that mysterious calm she unknowingly wielded like a weapon was only one of the tools in Gwen’s arsenal. I was in no way prepared to sit there for an hour, being assaulted by her hips swaying as she subtly danced to whatever god-awful music she’d had playing in her headphones.