Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 138072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
He sits down at the kitchen table. “I had to go to a meeting.”
I drop the plate I’m washing when he says that, hot sudsy water splashing up at me.
“So that’s where I was,” he says. “I tried to get here sooner, but the meeting ran a lot longer than I thought.”
“A meeting,” I say, shaking my head. I know meetings are the epitome of what happens here stays here, and they’re supposed to be anonymous, but I’m not sure how that’s possible in his situation.
“Yeah, the conversation veered somewhere unexpected,” he says. “Being careful in relationships.”
I turn to him, horrified. Oh god. “Please tell me you didn’t say anything about us.”
“Of course not,” he says. “Not even sure what to say, if I wanted to, not sure… about us.”
Us. There is no ‘us’. There was an ‘us’ once upon a time, but now it’s just me and him and whatever this mess is I’ve gotten into by throwing myself at him the way I did.
Drying my hands off, I sit down across from him.
He picks up the Breezeo doll that Maddie left on the table after dinner. “This is what she grabbed for Show & Tell this morning.”
“I’m not surprised. She has probably taken it a dozen times.”
He smiles, staring at it, but says nothing.
“Are you, uh, you know…?” I wave toward him, not sure how to word it. “Okay?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Am I okay?”
“You said you had to go to a meeting, so I wondered…”
“If I fucked up?”
“No, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, you can ask it. I’ve fucked up a lot. But no, I haven’t. Not this time. Not yet.”
“Yet.”
He laughs dryly. “Yet.”
“Well, that’s good to know, but that’s not what I asked,” I say. “I asked if you’re okay.”
He sets the doll down. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“Good.”
“Are you?”
“Sure.”
“Are you happy?”
It sounds like small talk, I know, but it’s so much deeper than that and his expression shows it. Am I happy? I don’t know. “I wouldn’t say things are perfect, but I guess I’m happy. You?”
“No.”
His answer is instant. He doesn’t even consider it. He’s living his dream, but yet, he’s not happy.
“I was happy this morning, though,” he continues, smiling again. “Last night, too.”
“Last night shouldn’t have happened.”
“But it did.”
He reaches across the table, his hand grasping mine. I stare down at it, not moving, even though that voice of self-preservation begs for me to pull away, get some space.
He squeezes my hand as I meet his gaze. He’s still smiling. He looks happy.
My anxiety flares.
“Let’s go somewhere,” he says.
“Where?”
“Wherever you want to go.”
I shake my head. “We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have work and Maddie has school. We can’t just go somewhere.”
“We’ll go for the weekend.”
“And do what?”
“Whatever you want to do.”
I pull away from him, his touch clouding my thoughts. He’s saying pretty words, but I’m not sure I can believe any of it.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, afraid to say yes even though my stupid heart yearns to. “We should worry about next weekend first. You know, the convention. I mean, if you’re still—”
“I am.”
“Okay, but I need details—the where, the when, the how. When are you picking her up, when are you bringing her back, what are you feeding her, can you guarantee she won’t be kidnapped?”
He laughs as he leans back in the chair, like I’m being funny, but I’m serious. That’s a lot of people, a lot of strangers, and I’m already starting to regret telling him he could take her.
“I’ll pick her up early Saturday morning. I’ll bring her back late Saturday night. And to be honest, I’ll probably feed her whatever she wants. As far as getting kidnapped, you don’t have to worry. I’m not gonna let her out of my sight.”
“But I, uh… okay.”
I don’t know what else to say.
“Okay,” he agrees, pulling his phone out when it rings, answering it quietly. “What’s up, Cliff?”
Cliff.
I get up from the table, not wanting to listen to that conversation, but I catch parts of it as I finish cleaning the kitchen, something about timelines and schedules, meetings in the city and doctors appointments.
After he hangs up, he stands up, and I think he’s about to leave, but instead he strolls over to where I’m standing and pauses behind me. He brushes my hair aside, and I gasp when he kisses my shoulder. It’s soft, so soft, barely a graze from his lips. Tingles engulf me, a chill rushing through me that makes my knees go weak.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I whisper.
“We’re not doing anything,” he says, his right arm snaking around my middle, cast pressing against my stomach as he pulls me back against him.
He kisses my neck, and I close my eyes, gripping the counter tightly. He marked me last night, like we were some reckless teenagers, leaving love-bites all over. I spent most of the day trying to hide them from people.