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)
At night, I’ve been thinking about him and Andrew and my life as it currently stands, which is not exactly dream material.
“I can get you a better pillow if that’s part of the problem.”
The coffee pot sputters and hisses, forcing out a few last drips before finishing up.
I shake my head. “It’s fine. Thanks though.” I take the pot and pour him a full cup before pouring some for myself.
“I think we need to take a break today.”
I’m taking a sip of coffee so I have to rely on my eyebrows to do the talking for me. They arch up toward my hairline with his suggestion. No work?!
He nods, almost smiling. “It wouldn’t kill us, and I’m already way behind schedule. What’s one more day?”
It’s true, actually. Over the last week, I’ve stayed in contact with Joy, emailing her whenever I make it into town. She’s ecstatic that things seem to be working between Nate and me. The fact that we’re still plotting is a cause for celebration as far as she’s concerned, and I don’t think they’re interested in rocking the boat or adding any undue pressure onto Nate or me. As long as we’re chipping away at the third book, she’s happy, especially considering that so many people at InkWell assumed Nate would never start it at all.
“Do you have plans?” I ask.
He runs his fingers through his hair. It’s wavier than usual this morning—perfect.
“I need to stock up on a few things from a real grocery store, so I was going to head into Kendal.” My intrigue must be evident because he smiles timidly and asks, “Do you want to come?”
“Yes!”
I’ve been cooped up in the cottage for far too many days. I haven’t even made it into Sedbergh since Tuesday. Andrew and I had a long conversation during his lunch break at work that day. It was a phone call I wasn’t looking forward to at all. Over the weekend, I’d gone back and forth on whether I wanted to tell Andrew about my hookup. On one hand, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings for no reason. If Nate and I aren’t going to continue pursuing each other, there’s an argument for not telling Andrew about it at all.
On the other hand, my relationship with Andrew feels like it’s barely surviving. If I keep a secret this big from him, there’s a possibility it’ll become the final nail in the coffin for us.
So while I sat on a park bench, in the cold, outside Sedbergh’s coffee shop, I called Andrew and ripped off the Band-Aid.
“I kissed someone else this weekend” is how I initially broached the subject.
He was silent for a long pause, digesting my confession.
“Okay.” He was trying so hard to keep the judgment out of his tone, and I really appreciated that. I knew it must have been hard for him.
“We didn’t have sex, but—”
He cut me off quickly. “If you want to tell me everything that happened, you can, Summer. But also, you don’t owe me anything. We talked about this. I want us to be in a relationship, taking the next steps, moving in together.” He sighed, and I knew he was rubbing his hand down his face, exhausted by me. “You’re not ready. I know that. But I felt like I couldn’t keep going on like we were forever.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No, don’t apologize. Remember? When I asked for a break, we agreed we could see other people.”
“Have you? Seen anyone, I mean?” I desperately hoped the answer would be yes, so that we could share in the burden of guilt.
He chuckled. “No. I’ve been working like a dog. And well…” He clears his throat. “I’ve been missing you.”
His admission hurt.
“I really am so—”
“Summer.” He forced a laugh. “It’s fine. I swear it is. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He never asked me who I kissed, and I never volunteered the information. Now, though, sitting in Nate’s car while he drives us to Kendal, I wonder if that lie of omission will continue to haunt me.
I look down and then oh-so-carefully peer over at Nate. His face is in profile, his narrowed gaze focused on the road. He looks lost in thought, so lost he doesn’t notice me staring. I wonder what’s on his mind. I hope it’s something to do with the plot of A Cosmic Penance. That’s what we’re calling it now, the third book.
I should want him to be feverishly working on it, though maybe not too fast, because once we get a rough outline of the book, I’m not sure I’m needed here anymore. Surely once he starts writing, InkWell will call me home for my hero’s welcome. I can’t be expected to stay here in his cottage forever. The realization comes with an unhealthy twinge of sadness. I shouldn’t want to stay. This is just a business trip. My real life is waiting for me back in New York. Andrew, my parents, my job, my little cubicle on the fourteenth floor. I have an ivy plant there that someone is watering for me, a stapler I just bought. Even if this part of England is beautiful, I have to go home.