Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Taking a right, it’s easy to keep an eye on Liv up ahead. She’s erratic, bopping and weaving through the throngs of people. Impressive in heels, especially considering she’s tripped into me twice wearing them.
I cross the street and close the distance, purposely leaving ten feet or so between us. She detours into the park. I continue to follow her until she plops down on a bench, fanning herself wildly with her hands.
She dips her head back, soaking in the sunshine. A hint of sweat glistens along the curve of her neck, and I’m reminded again about the night we spent together. Strangely, I thought it had the potential to lead to more. Now I realize that was ludicrous to even consider. She might have enjoyed the physical connection we had, but otherwise, the woman detests me.
I never hesitate, but with her, I’d be wise to take this slow. “Liv?”
When she looks up, the sunshine fills her eyes, causing her to squint, but not so fast that I don’t catch the myriad of colors—golds turning to greens and browns mingling. She’s captivating without even trying.
It’s hopeless to entertain feelings when it comes to Olivia Bancroft. It’s best to abandon all thoughts of a potential reconciliation before I get burned twice.
Shielding her eyes from the sun, she asks, “What are you doing here, Noah? Did you follow me?”
Lying will get me nowhere. It’s obvious I did, so I reply, “Yes. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
“I’ll be fine. I just . . .” Her gaze pivots to a couple walking by and then back to me. Her shoulders fall as if she can finally breathe. “Thank you for checking on me.”
“It was that or a double meat Italian sub.”
She laughs, the grace of her hand covering her chest. “You chose me over double meat? I’m flattered, Westcott.”
“Who says they’re mutually exclusive?” It earns me a smile and a chuckle under her breath. I’ll take it. Beats seeing her upset.
I nod to the path from where we came. “It’s good to see you’re fine. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.” I don’t make it five feet before she says, “You can stay.”
I turn back. “Something must really be wrong to warrant that kind of invitation. You sure you’re feeling okay?”
She laughs again. “I’m feeling better now.” Patting the bench beside her, she adds, “I think . . .” She searches the sky for her thoughts, and then looks at me again. Sincerity softens her gaze. “You’re being very kind to someone who hasn’t been the same to you.”
I didn’t see this coming . . . “That’s how people react when threatened.”
She says, “I appreciate the grace, but I am sorry.”
I return to sit on the other end of the bench, not because I couldn’t have sat closer but because I want her to be comfortable. “Thank you, but it’s okay.”
“It’s not.” Gentle laughter rocks her shoulders. She scans the park, her eyes eventually latching onto some guy rollerblading while a dog runs beside him. “We should talk.”
A chuckle reverberates in my chest as her words strike a funny chord inside me. “Oh yeah? What do you want to talk about?” Watching the pigeons peck around on the sidewalk, I ask, “Do you want to talk about what happened back at the office?”
“Not really.”
“Okay. Have you read any good books lately?”
Her laughter has me glancing over at her just enough to see a genuine and beautiful smile. “A few great board books.”
“Yeah?” Now I chuckle, leaning forward to rest my arms on my legs. I tilt my head to look at her. “Do you have a favorite?”
“There’s a truck book with an excavator in it. I’ve discovered I love to say excavator. Why is that word so fun to say?”
“Excavator.” I grin, thrown off by the most unique response I’ve ever received. “It’s a good word, but I didn’t take you for the baby book type.”
A quick shrug of her shoulders reminds me that she’s younger than she lets on most days. Her job has sucked the vivaciousness she had when we first met right out of her. Seeing her relaxed in the sunshine and enjoying a few minutes in the park changes my outlook on her.
She stands and moves in front of me. “We only have a few minutes left of lunch. What do you say we go get your double-meat Italian before we run out of time?”
I stand, and we start walking, together this time. “Why does it sound so dirty when you call it a double-meat Italian?”
“Is there any other way to say it?” She cracks up. Whatever was getting to her earlier has faded away. It’s not like two coworkers walking together; it feels more like friends on the same side.
Like she soaked in the sun, I take her in—her voice, the laughter, her eyes as she glances over at me, and the smile. . . the smile that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t hate me as much as I believed.