Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
It’s still early, and he’s not supposed to be here for another half hour, and if history is any indication, he’ll probably be late, but here I sit, ready and anxiously waiting.
I jump out of my chair when there’s a knock on the door twenty minutes before he’s supposed to be here. I open the door to my husband and try to hide my surprise. Instead of the suit and tie, he’s in his jeans. His normally clean-shaven face is covered in scruff, and the reserved look that is a constant on his face seems more relaxed. “Hey.” I point at the door. “Did you just knock on the door? At your own house?”
He looks almost sheepish. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure and didn’t want to upset you.”
I nod. Maybe he’s right. We should have some boundaries, and I guess it’s only right that until this is officially over, we have some rules set in place. I open the door farther. “Right. Can I help you with anything? I could have just cooked.”
He walks in the house, his eyes traveling up and down my body before he bites his lip and grimaces. “Nope, I got it. I didn’t want you to have to cook.”
I follow behind him. “Right. I know you never really cared for my cooking—”
He cuts me off and stops so suddenly, I run into his back. With my hands on the back of his arms, I push away from him. He turns and stares down at me. “I love your cooking. I just always felt bad that you worked all day and then had to come home to cook, that’s all.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You hired someone to come and cook because…”
I let my voice trail off, and he takes a step toward me. “Because I knew I couldn’t cook, and I didn’t think you cared one way or another. I thought…” He stops and sighs, shaking his head. “I thought I was doing something good for you.”
I reach for one of the bags in his hand, trying not to touch him as I do so, but inevitably, my hand touches his. I bite onto my lip and move past him into the dining room. I set down the bag, and we both work on taking things out. I lift the familiar container and open it. “Really? Is it that kind of talk? You thought you needed to bring my favorite?”
He huffs out a breath. “There’s a lot we need to talk about, Nat. And I brought your favorite because I wanted to see you smile.”
And just like that, a smile forms on my lips. “There, I’m smiling. But how can I not, when I’m holding a piece of Red’s cinnamon Apple Blaze cake?”
He opens another Styrofoam container and holds it up. “Well, don’t miss your favorite comfort meal. Meat loaf, macaroni and cheese, and green beans.”
I stare between the container and him in surprise. “It is my favorite.” I grab the plate from him and go and sit down in my seat. Instead of the seat he usually sits in at the far end of the table, he sits down in the seat next to me and opens his container.
I stand up. “I’ll grab plates.”
He puts his hand on mine to keep me where I’m at. “No, we can eat on these. It’s fine.”
I try not to let him see my surprise as I set back down. I take a bite of the food and moan. At lunch today, I barely ate, and for the first time since yesterday, I’m really hungry.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, and the calm feeling I usually feel when we’re together is gone. I pat my stomach. “I’ll have to fit in an extra workout this week because I plan on eating that whole piece of cake.”
He looks at my body and smiles. “You’re perfect, Nat, just the way you are.”
I try not to let the compliment go to my head because the fact remains we’re getting a divorce.
I eat a few more bites and then push my plate away. Suddenly, my hunger is gone. “So you said you wanted to talk tonight.”
He nods as he pushes his plate away too. “Yeah, I was hoping we could talk about what you said last night.”
I sigh. “About the divorce.”
He openly cringes and nods his head. “Yeah. I don’t want to get a divorce.”
For just a second, I feel hopeful, and then when I realize that nothing has changed in the last twenty-four hours, I know that I need to go through with it. “It’s too late, Beau. I think we said everything we needed to say last night. I want a divorce.”
He opens the container that holds his cake and takes a bite of it. He looks as if he doesn’t have a care in the world as he savors the bite he just took. It’s only when he shakes his head and opens his eyes that I can see the hard look on his face letting me know my words have any effect on him. “But that’s just it, Nat. I don’t want a divorce. I don’t want to let you go.”