Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
The silence haunts me.
The fear of losing Koen haunts me.
Price Milloy … he guts me.
My heart thumps to the point of a dull ache in my chest before I drift off to sleep.
In the middle of the night, Koen’s arms wake me, wrapping around my waist and pulling me into his body. “I can’t sleep,” he whispers. “The distance is too much.”
I roll toward him, nuzzling my face in his neck.
“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” he says.
Words die deep in my throat behind a mass of swelling emotions. Tears fill my eyes. And I hold still, willing them away.
He’s the one. The person who becomes everything you never knew you needed.
“Scottie?”
“Hmm?” It’s all I can manage.
“Move in with me.”
What?
Forcing my breaths to slow and my heart to calm, I let those four words play in my head until I can form actual words. “I need to think about it.”
“Take your time.”
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three breaths.
“I’m done thinking. I’ll move in with you.”
His chest vibrates with a chuckle, which steals some of my pain and replaces it with hope.
“But I must warn you, I’m a little messy.”
“Ya don’t say?”
“Can you love the messy parts of my life?” I kiss his shoulder.
“No. But I can love you and deal with your messiness.”
I grin, closing my eyes. What a life this is.
Until … hours later, I awaken alone in bed and am filled with unease because I had the most vivid sex dream, but I wasn’t having sex with Koen.
CHAPTER TWENTY
WHAT IF THERE’S A THIRD KIND OF LOVE?
Price
I’ve unintentionally made a new friend. Ed’s back on track, and we figured out the best way to keep him in his house. In return, he’s insisted on fixing my fence. I had no idea the fence needed fixing.
“Got any coffee?” he asks, pulling a hanky from his pocket to wipe his brow when I offer him a glass of water.
“I don’t. I have juice.”
“Orange?”
I shake my head.
“Apple?”
Again, I shake my head. “Carrot, beet, and ginger.”
His nose wrinkles. “You one of them health nuts?”
“Guilty.”
He grumbles, nodding to the door, inviting himself inside after working for only thirty minutes. “I suppose your concoction won’t kill me.” He starts to follow me then stops. “Grab that bag.”
I glance to my right at the worn brown briefcase on the deck beside his toolbox. “This?”
He nods.
I carry it inside, and he takes it from me while I get his juice.
“I noticed you didn’t have anything from The Righteous Brothers.” Ed pulls his vinyl record from its cover, blows on it, and plays it on my turntable.
It’s impossible not to grin as Ed snaps his fingers and sways his bony hips in the middle of my living room.
“You think I’ve lost that lovin’ feeling?” I ask, handing him a bottle of juice.
He takes the juice and sits on the sofa while I inspect his small stack of records in his briefcase.
“You’re living by yourself, young man. Either you’ve lost it, or you haven’t found it. Which is it?”
“Maybe both,” I mumble.
The Four Seasons.
The Coasters.
Brenda Lee.
He’s an oldies guy.
“Divorced?”
I shake my head.
“Widowed?”
Another headshake.
“Gay?”
I grin. “No.”
“What’s your problem?”
His directness is refreshing.
“Haven’t you heard of a straight male being single by choice?”
“No.”
I laugh, and it feels so good.
“But I don’t understand your generation, so forget I asked.” Ed has a beet-red mustache, and from the look on his face, I’d say he’s not a fan of my juice, but he slowly sips it anyway.
“How did your wife die? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Cancer.” Ed slowly shakes his head. “Just between us, I think it might have been the chemo that killed her. That stuff’s poison.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It was quick. She didn’t even make it through one round. Diagnosed and gone in less than six weeks.” He gives me a sad smile. “Took me a long time for everything to register. Sometimes, I still forget she’s gone. I’ll be watching TV and yell for her to bring me something.” He stares at his juice. “I bet she’s up there laughing her ass off.”
I sit in the armchair adjacent to the sofa. “I bet she is too.”
Ed tosses me a wry grin, but it quickly fades when he sighs. “Cancer’s gonna take all of us. Or a heart attack. Strokes are up there, too.”
“Accidents. Chronic respiratory disease. Covid. Alzheimer’s. Diabetes,” I add.
Ed eyes me like I’m the morbid one, but in the next breath, he takes another swig of his juice. “Suicide, homicide.”
I nod, fighting my grin. “Lightning strike. Shark attack.”
“You need to get laid, young man.”
I chuckle. He’s not wrong.
I’ve moved my bedtime to nine instead of ten. Sleep is my friend. Just as I fall into a peaceful slumber, there’s a knock at my door.
Opening my eyes, I wait. Maybe there wasn’t a knock. Maybe it was a dream.
Tap. Tap. Tap.