Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
“Did you have a nice Christmas?” I ask a moment later, trying to defuse the awkwardness of this car ride. He shrugs, and I feel stupid for asking. It’s none of my business. I don’t even know who he spent Christmas with, or where he spent it. I know he’s from Ohio—he mentioned that once, over a year ago and I committed it to memory. He went to Harvard, same as Sawyer, then moved to Philadelphia after graduate school to help Sawyer run the company. But beyond that I don’t know much; I don’t know how much family he still has in Ohio, if any.
“I visited the family for a few days. It’s always good to go home.”
“In Ohio?” I ask, and immediately wish I could retract it. I shouldn’t know he’s from Ohio, he’s literally mentioned it one time, and, well, he wasn’t even speaking to me. I overheard it. It’s official, I’m pathetic.
But he doesn’t seem to notice my stalker question because he replies no, that his parents retired to Savannah a few years ago and he went down to visit them.
“What about you? Did you have a good holiday with your family?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Are they local?” he asks, because you know, he’s not stalking me so he doesn’t have this information tucked away.
“I’m from Delaware. The Newark area,” I answer, naming a city that’s about an hour from Philadelphia as my phone buzzes and I scramble to open my clutch, grateful for the interruption. It’s Everly.
Home yet?
No.
How is it going?
Awkward.
Huh, really?
Terrible.
But you’re almost home?
Probably five minutes.
“Everything okay?” Gabe asks as I stuff the phone back in my clutch.
“Yeah, fine. Thank you. My turn is coming up, take a left on Presidential.”
He nods, but doesn’t say anything.
“The seat warmer is nice,” I offer. I need to shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.
We’re stopped at a light and he glances down at my bare legs on his heated leather car seat and smirks. “I would imagine so,” he says.
The light changes and I direct him to my apartment. He pulls into a space in front of my building and puts the car in park.
“Thanks again, thank you. For the ride.” Nice babbling, Sandra. “Okay, thanks!” I add and throw the car door open, slamming it shut behind me. I make it to the front of the car before I hear a second car door slam and see Gabe moving to the front of the car as well.
“What are you doing?”
“Walking you to your door,” he says, with a smile. “It’s late, and dark,” he adds, glancing around.
Of course. Of course he would do that. I nod and start walking, his footsteps solid and reassuring behind me. The sidewalks have been salted due to the cold weather and my heels crunch over the granules as I walk. My bare legs are freezing and I’m really missing the pants I was wearing when I left home. I reach my door and dig out my key.
“This is me,” I say, shoving the key into the lock. I turn and find him standing there, hands in his coat pocket, silent. Um, what else am I supposed to say? He cocks an eyebrow, even more adorable with his glasses on, but says nothing. It feels like a million years of awkward silence pass. What is he waiting for? Oh, I should thank him. “Thank you for walking me to the door,” I say, thumbing behind me. “Okay, thanks. Goodnight,” I add, then slip inside and shut the door.
I’m an idiot. That was the most embarrassing ten minutes of my life.
I slump against the closed door and drop my head into my hands. What did I think was going to happen? That he’d invite himself in? Kiss me? Bend me over the couch and fuck me like he read that stupid quiz and he feels the same?
Not likely, silly. I sigh and push off the door, hanging my coat in the hall closet as I walk towards my kitchen. Good thing I stocked up on ice cream when I went to the grocery store this week. I think I’ve got a pint of Rocky Road. And strawberry. I might have both, I think defiantly as I step out of my heels in front of the freezer. My hand is on the tub of strawberry when there’s a knock on my door.
I leave the ice cream and walk back to the door in my bare feet. Did someone really just knock on my door, or am I hearing things? I wonder as I peer through the peep-hole.
Not crazy. Gabe is still standing outside my door.
My heart thuds in my chest. Holy oh, my God. Gabe Laurent is standing on my doorstep. Because he didn’t leave after I shut the door. Which can only mean one thing, even I know that.