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)
Her face lit, a soft smile curling her mouth. “Just eighty-four thousand?”
“I was lowballing it, hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
She laughed, soothing my soul. In the span of less than an hour, my emotions had been on a full-tilt roller coaster, and that was saying a lot for a Wednesday.
I’d smiled. I’d laughed. I’d lusted. I’d panicked. I’d raged. I’d marveled. I’d hoped.
Little did I know, the ride was far from over.
“Listen, before you go, we need to talk about next week.”
“What about it?” I asked.
She reached into the back seat to retrieve her purse. After setting it on the center console, she dug inside, saying, “I’m not even sure if you’ll want to come back after that shitshow tonight, but in case you do, I had this made for you.” She extended a single silver key in my direction.
A grin radiated through my body as I took it from her hand. “Is that the key to The Grille?”
“The Rosewood,” she corrected. “But yes, and I’m trusting that you can use this responsibly and I won’t show up one day to gold-plated blinds and a million-dollar security system.”
“Wow. Clearly, you have not seen my paystubs. I hate to break it to you, Gwen. Despite the lavish mansion before you, I am no millionaire. You were going to get faux wooden blinds and an alarm that came with a monthly bill—addressed to you.”
She laughed. “Damn, now I’m regretting saying no.”
I waggled my eyebrows. “It’s not too late.”
“Truett,” she warned.
I lifted my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll drop it.”
“Good. Now, back to what I was saying. I can’t meet you at the restaurant next Wednesday.”
My stomach dropped as if I’d been hurled from the top of a skyscraper. The freefall happened in slow motion as my mind frantically tried to figure out a way to make it stop.
“Why not?” I blurted more loudly than intended.
She sighed, glancing out the window before meeting my eyes again. “It’s a long story, but I had to switch days with my ex-husband so he can take our son to a Yankees game.”
I carefully schooled my features so I wouldn’t look like even more of a basket case than I’d already proven myself to be. “Oh, okay. Makes sense.”
“Hey,” she whispered, seeing right through my act. “That’s why I gave you the key. You can still come on Wednesday. Just let yourself in, and lock up when you leave.”
I should have been elated. I’d spent the last week dreaming of just such a situation. If she wasn’t around, I wouldn’t have to worry about that magical calm of hers and I could get back to my routine. That was exactly what I wanted—what I needed.
Yet the blood drained from my face, disappointment hitting me like a freight train. Two weeks. It was going to be two weeks before I saw her again?
A rusty dagger twisted in my stomach. I loved my Wednesday mornings, but fuck me, for the last few weeks, whether I was willing to admit it or not, a part of me looked forward to the afternoons too. I was conflicted, confused, and totally uncomfortable with the loss of predictability. But it was Gwen. I’d been starved for her for far too long, and just a taste of having her back in my life had made me an addict.
Desperation swirled inside me, but what was I going to do? I couldn’t very well ask her to hire a sitter and sacrifice time with her son so I could get my weekly fix.
Hell, with as hot and cold as I’d been recently, she probably needed a break from me and made up the whole baseball thing to buy herself a night of peace and quiet. The thought burned like I’d face-planted into a pile of embers, but I couldn’t blame her. I was giving myself a first-class case of whiplash too.
The fact was, just like with the booth, the sandwich, and now the key, Gwen had been going out of her way to make life easier on me. I couldn’t repay her by panicking and making her feel even an ounce of guilt for spending time with her kid.
This wasn’t her problem.
I wasn’t her problem.
Forcing a smile, I lifted the key. “Thanks. I appreciate this.”
“No problem. Don’t lose that. It cost a solid three dollars, and now that I have to add blinds and an alarm to my to-do list, I might have to mortgage my house to replace it.”
Pulling my house keys from my pocket to add the new one to the ring, I tried to lighten the mood—my mood. “Oh, so you can spend money on me, but I can’t spend it on you?”
“Three dollars is a far cry from—” She abruptly stopped talking when she caught sight of the key chain dangling in my fingers.