Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Well, I’m good at watching you, so one of us will feel successful today.”
Her thumbs slide along my jaw. “It’s only a five-minute drive. We have a little time. Maybe I can earn another rose.”
This woman was made for me, just not in the right life.
I grin. “Let’s see whatcha got.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JAYMES
My person.
Calvin Fitzgerald is my dream—the kind that doesn’t come true and ends with a pounding heart and an aching reality.
Our time together ends too quickly. He watches me create a copper-and-leather bracelet and matching earrings. We take his grandma for a walk, and I have the privilege of meeting Terry, her older man.
The following morning, Fitz jogs next to me while I ride my skateboard, and I’m the one who struggles to keep up.
“You’re such a show-off!” I giggle, pumping around a turn into a headwind.
He runs faster.
After I’m exhausted and he’s barely broken a sweat, we eat lunch at a rooftop café.
“Why do you suppose Maren never told me she saw your tattoo?” I ask, sipping my pink lemonade while watching him eat the rest of my lunch. Calvin consumes an enormous number of calories.
He chews, giving my question some thought. “I think she feels sorry for you, but she knows there’s no changing the situation. So why bring it up?”
“Why does she feel sorry for me?”
He shrugs. “She thinks you have strong feelings for me and knows I will only disappoint you. I’m a disappointment to everyone who invests time in getting to know me.”
He’s not a disappointment. He breaks my heart, but not in a conventional way.
“I think the only person you should worry about disappointing is yourself.”
He doesn’t respond.
Not at lunch.
Not for the rest of the night.
We skip dinner and fall into bed early to earn more roses.
“Would Edith be okay with me visiting her?” I ask, dressing the following morning.
Fitz glances up from packing his bag. “She’d probably like that.” He returns his attention to the bag, zipping it.
“I won’t ask about her past.”
About your past.
He shrugs. “She doesn’t remember anyway.”
“Does she ask about it?”
“Sometimes.” He tosses his bag by the door.
I shove my feet into my ankle boots. “So she must know about some of it.”
“She knows enough.”
Tucking in the front of my white blouse, I narrow my eyes at him. “What do you mean?”
“She’s been given a chance to live the rest of her life in peace. So I tell her things that are a little less awful.”
“You lie?”
“I’ve softened the hard truth.”
Does he know how badly I want to beg him for that hard truth? How difficult it is for me to bite my tongue? How much I want to nudge him for more? Staying on my side of the line is slowly killing me because he’s unknowingly making me fall irrevocably in love with him.
“Fitz, you can tell me anything. Okay? I won’t judge. I won’t push for more. I can be an idle listener if you ever need to let go of anything.”
“I let it go.” He crosses his arms—the opposite of letting anything go.
“Here.” I wrap the bracelet I made around his wrist. “It’s not a tissue rose, but it’s the best I can do.” After threading the button through the loop, I glance at him.
Tension eases from his body, and he finds a smile for me. “I’m glad I came.”
“You came a lot.”
He shakes his head despite his grin. “Perv.”
I laugh. “I’m glad you visited me. It was unexpected. Possibly the best surprise I’ve ever had.”
“That’s just sad for you.”
Oh, Fitz . . . it’s not sad at all.
I rest my hands on his chest. “Take care. Okay?”
He nods several times. And it would be easier to keep my shit together if he didn’t slide his hand along my neck, fingers brushing my tattoo. My hand drifts from his chest to the side a few inches, over his tattoo.
We share a grin. I’d say a knowing grin, but I’m not sure I know anything anymore. Fitz took time away from what he loves the most to see me. He elicited help from Evette. Then he introduced me to his grandma. We’ve spent the better part of the past three days naked in my bed. And he seems obsessed with touching my tattoo.
I can’t even begin to understand the look in his eyes. It’s pure torture. I didn’t put that look there, but I feel like I bring it to the surface.
Emotion works its way into my throat, making it hard to swallow and nearly impossible to speak, so I clear it and find something lighter to talk about than the reality that he’s leaving. I don’t know what this weekend has meant to him. “I bet Mrs. Wilke will be thrilled to see you.”
“Yeah. Her nipples get pretty hard when I come home after being gone for so long.”