Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“All right. All right. That’s enough. Any more compliments and I’ll start melting like the wicked witch.” Mary waves him off with a laugh and looks at me. “Sammy, if you haven’t noticed, Noah is one of the nicest, most charming guys you’ll ever meet. Even my husband Jared is in love with him.”
Her husband Jared? As in, she’s married?
If I weren’t sitting down, I’d be on the floor right now. They’re going to have to rewrite the end of the Bible if there are any more revelations.
She smirks at me and reaches into her purse to pull out a set of keys. “Speaking of Jared, I need to get home to celebrate the momentous occasion of him cooking dinner for once.” She slides the keys across the bar to Noah. “Kara loved our little day-trip to the Central Park Zoo. I got her back to the facility in time for dinner. Your Range Rover is parked in your favorite spot in the garage. And don’t worry, I only managed a few dents in it.”
Noah rolls his eyes with an amiable chuckle. “Very funny.”
“Sammy, it was really great meeting you. I hope I’ll get to see more of you in the future,” Mary says with a wink and reaches out to grip Noah’s shoulder with a friendly pat. “And I’ll check in with you tomorrow, boss.”
“Thanks, Mary.”
And then she’s off, heading straight out of the bar after dropping the kind of truth bomb that’s going to be hitting me with shock waves until the end of time.
Mary isn’t someone Noah is dating. She’s a medical caregiver for his sister who I didn’t even know existed.
“So…you’ll stay and have a drink with me?” Noah asks, and I can’t bring myself to answer anything but “Yes.”
“Is Kara your only sibling?” I ask Noah, casually nudging my questions toward a more and more personal territory.
We’ve been here at Bailey’s for hours, and I’ve yet to find a subject I’m not interested in.
We’ve talked about his college days at Columbia and how his roommate’s one friend actually had the FBI come looking for him at their dorm one night because of something crazy he had done and how they never saw him again. Kyle something, I think he said his name was.
He also told me how he ran the New York Marathon ten years ago, only to trip embarrassingly on his mostly numb feet after crossing the finish line and need stitches in his knee.
He told me his favorite color is blue and that he’s never tried sushi and that anytime the weatherman says something like the wind blows from the east, he thinks of Liam Neeson in the Taken movies.
I know more random things about Noah after tonight than I’ve known in the entire seven months we’ve been acquainted with each other.
And still, I want to know more. I want to go deeper and earlier and into more detail. I want to know his thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams and the things he would change if he could.
And whenever he’s asked, I’ve managed to find the strength to share the same kinds of things about me. Which, for me, feels nothing short of a miracle.
“Yep. She’s seven years younger than me,” Noah states as he sets his water back on the bar. He switched from beer about an hour ago in anticipation of being on call tomorrow morning. “When she was born, she was the light of all our lives. A healthy, adorable baby girl, and the little sister this silly little seven-year-old boy didn’t think he wanted but fell in love with instantly.”
“So…” I pause, unsure if I should ask the question or how I should word it, but somehow, he senses what’s on my mind without my saying a word.
“Everything changed when Kara was about four months old. She had several severe seizures that changed the course of her life forever.”
Oh my God.
“That’s so…tragic.”
“It definitely caused a strain on our parents’ marriage. They ended up divorcing when Kara was about three years old, and my dad took on the role of her primary caregiver.”
“What about your mom?”
“I used to really hate her,” he says quietly, shaking his head as he does. “But as I got older, as I grew up, I realized my mom was simply too selfish, too emotionally immature, to handle such a difficult situation.”
“I think something like that would be hard on any mother.”
“Don’t give her too much credit,” he contests gently, meeting my eyes with a slight frown creasing the corners of his lips. “She’s not like you, Sammy. She’s not like anyone you know. After the divorce, she spent most of my youth continually bringing my dad to court over alimony and support, even though he was the one taking care of my sister. Just because I’ve matured past the point of hating her doesn’t mean she deserves kind words.”