Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
I don’t even say anything. I can’t. I just turn around and keep cooking.
He doesn’t ask me if I want wine; he knows I do. He gives me a heavy pour then drops the glass on the counter beside the stove. Of course, he’s too close when he does it. His scent wraps around me like a hug. No, a vise.
I take the glass and drink the first sip, surveying him sneakily over the rim. He’s watching me too. It appears neither one of us is all that stealthy. “Saw you playing with rocks again today.”
His lips curve around the rim of his glass. “Why do you watch?”
“There’s no other form of entertainment around here.”
His brow arches like, Isn’t there?
“And what did you do this afternoon?”
“I worked,” I say defiantly. Ha!
“On what?”
I didn’t expect the follow-up question. I have to look away. “Just retracing plot points in the first two books.”
“You were reading Amelia and Julian’s scenes.”
I don’t bother responding. I make a big show of stirring the boiling pasta like it’s a huge imposition, and then I go over to him, right up to his chest, and when he doesn’t move, I scowl and point to the drawer behind him. “You mind?”
His amusement only rankles me more as he slides over and lets me retrieve salad tongs, which I didn’t need and have no use for, but I will not let him know that. I want to look busy so he’ll drop the subject, but I should have known better. As soon as our meals are plated and we’ve taken our seats at the table, clinked glasses, and played civilized dinner partners for all of three minutes, he brings it up again.
“What scenes?”
I wrap my hand around my fork in a death grip and close my eyes. “So help me god, don’t bring up the books. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want to think about it.”
He waits for me to compose myself before he replies. “Alright, then what are we going to talk about?”
“How about we sit in silence and pretend the other person doesn’t exist?”
“Why does the change bother you so much?”
That’s a question for my therapist. Too bad I don’t have one. Maybe Cat can give me some advice. He came down to eat his dinner and putter around the kitchen. Now, he’s by the fire, cuddled up and listening to us talk.
“Fine, no more book talk. Do you miss Andrew?”
Do I miss Andrew? I texted him yesterday when I was in town, just after I spoke with Joy. I didn’t think he’d get back to me right away, but his name lit up my screen. He called, and I answered. “Hi.”
“Hey.” He sounded sick with relief. We hadn’t talked in almost a week. I didn’t think much of it, but maybe he’s been trying to get ahold of me. I can imagine it’s been stressful on his end.
“Everything okay?” I asked, worried maybe there was something happening with my family.
“No, things are fine. I’m just…missing you.”
His admission took me aback. We’ve gone through this pattern before, breaking up and getting back together, the ultimatums and the concessions.
I doubt anything has changed for him. He wants us to move forward, would love me to move in with him and talk about plans for the future. I’m just not there yet, but I love Andrew. I know I do. He’s such a good man.
“I miss you too,” I said, feeling it. “I wish you were here.”
And I meant it. It would be so nice to see him, to show him around Sedbergh.
“I wish I were there too. Work’s insane at the moment, but there’s some light at the end of the tunnel.”
I let him unload some of his woes, complaining about the new guy he’s had problems with for weeks. Our call didn’t last long.
“Do you miss Alice?” I ask Nate now.
Slowly, Nate smirks, and it has the same effect as a torch skimming across my skin, sending fire through my veins.
“Alice and I weren’t like that.”
“So you never slept together?”
“It was simple, and more importantly, it’s in the past. You and Andrew are ongoing, correct?”
“We’re… I guess, yes,” I stammer.
Nate frowns in concentration, but I can tell he’s still toying with me when he continues, “Or wait, you said you could see other people, but you haven’t.”
I tighten my hold around my fork again. “It’s not so easy.”
“Why?”
“Andrew is the only man I’ve ever been with, so to casually open it up to other people is not as simple as it sounds.”
“You’ve never been with another man?”
He says it with a low rumble in his voice, like he’s restraining something.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
I want to squirm on my seat.
“Like you’re hungry.”
He chuckles and looks down, studying his wine glass, but it doesn’t last long. He’s too intrigued by this conversation to let it go.