Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
I move in, making sure she sees me. The effort is not needed since her eyes find me the moment I come around the large topiary in the garden seating of the restaurant she chose. “And here I showed up early so I wouldn’t keep you waiting.”
She stands, her hands grabbing onto my arms to lean in and greet me before I think she realizes it. Holding her, I flex my fingers around her forearms. Story laughs. “Sorry,” she says, starting to pull away. “I’m used to New York greetings.”
“Yeah, me too.” Her skin is soft under my fingertips, that jolt sending a shock to my heart again. I don’t want to let go. Please don’t let go, Story. “We still can.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.” She’s probably right. Her hands release me, and she sits down.
I’m about to scoot her chair in, but she does it first. The gentleman is not a role I often play these days since I don’t date. But she’s setting her boundaries before we’ve taken the first sip.
Sitting across from her, I notice that her cup is already half-empty. Fuck. That gives me four, maybe five sips before she’s going to be leaving me. A server comes with menus and a smile. She and Story have spent time together, judging by the relaxed smiles they exchanged. “May I get you something to drink, sir?” the server asks when she turns to me.
“What’s the largest coffee you have?”
“We have ten, twelve, or sixteen.”
“Sixteen, please.”
“We also have a special on mimosas and Bloody Marys for brunch.”
Story says, “A spicy Bloody Mary and another top off on the water, please.” She looks at me as if we’re a tag team.
“And a glass of water.”
Tapping the menus she set on the table, the server adds, “Take a look, and I’ll be back shortly with your drink order.”
“Thank you.” I think I just scored more time with that order alone.
“I’m starved,” Story says, her eyes barely seen above the menu. I’m not upset that she wants to eat. The menu is tipped forward, and she leans in. “Remember how we used to eat a whole meal for two for under two dollars?” Her smile is radiant, the memories as she looks at me the only light shining in her eyes. Waggling the menu, she shakes her head. “Now, we can’t even get a side of toast for under four dollars.”
I confess, “I still eat cup of noodles sometimes.”
“So do I. Easy to make and just hits the spot sometimes.”
I don’t want to look away from her, from her eyes with the golden centers to the green pastures of her irises. They’re still a unique coloring. It’s the eyes in the photo titled REED that drew me into the gallery. Reed with her eye color and my hair . . . “Guess some things never change.”
“Not much,” she adds with her gaze back on the menu. She shrugs. “But I guess some things do.”
The remark feels pointed, though she doesn’t follow it up. Should I? Should I push for more details that she doesn’t owe?
The server delivers the drinks, and we place our order. I added five sides to make this brunch last for hours. As soon as we’re alone again, Story asks, “You must be starving as well?”
“Famished.”
She takes a long pull of her cocktail. “Should we get the small talk out of the way before getting down to business?”
I’ll take whatever I can get with her if it means more time. “Sure. Do we start with our résumés or the weather, in what part of the city we live or what we like to do in our free time?”
Her giggle is light, but it’s authentic. “You’re right. We never really were ones for petty conversations.”
“They’re not petty. They’re just not us.”
“No,” she says, spinning the cocktail glass by the base. “No, we’re more jump right into the deep end kind of people.”
I don’t tell her that’s not me anymore. Lessons learned the hard way made me reevaluate everything, including my approach to life. Given a second chance made me more cautious. I should have treated our relationship with more care back then. Maybe I wouldn’t be sitting across from her like strangers trying to find something to talk about now.
She adds, “Or were,” reading my mind. Maybe life has thrown her curveballs that landed wrong as well. Taking another sip, she pushes it away like it’s all she intends to drink. She never was one much for alcohol. I’m not either anymore. “What did you want to talk about, Cooper?” Her tongue dips out and glides as if she wants to lick every bit of my name from her lips.
I didn’t get the chance to take her in the way I would have liked the other night like I do now. She’s so fucking beautiful that it’s hard to think clearly in her presence, much less protect myself.