Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“I can take you to the airport and—”
“I’m not leaving,” he states, cutting me off and sounding angry. “Jesus, Elora. What the fuck?”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I know it’s—”
“Got nothing to do with you or the person you are. You are not your father, Elora, and if anyone ever treated you differently because of who he is, that says more about them than it does about you.”
Tears I can’t control fill my eyes, and he watches as one slips from between my lashes and follows it with his gaze as it slides down my cheek. When it falls off my jaw, he closes the distance between us and wraps me in his arms, placing his mouth at my ear.
“We are not the people we come from, and I’d never judge you for what someone else has done.” The quiet words sneak past the walls I’ve built around myself and claw their way under my skin and into my chest. Pressing my face against his shirt, I cling to him as he rocks me from side to side. Cupping my jaw, he tips my head back to meet his gaze. “I really hate it when you cry.”
“Sorry.” I sniffle as he uses his thumb to wipe the tears from my cheeks.
“Feel better?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Sorry for crying all over you again. It’s starting to become a habit.”
“I don’t mind.” His face gentles, then his expression becomes grim when my stomach takes that moment to growl loudly. “I think I fucked up breakfast.”
Turning my face toward the stove, I look at the pan, and laughter bubbles up the back of my throat, but I swallow it down. When he said he added everything, he meant everything. There is bacon that looks undercooked, peppers and onions that are cut in such huge chunks they are probably still crisp, and huge slices of tomato mixed in with the eggs.
“Well…” I step out of his hold and walk to the stove, wiping my cheeks. Picking up the spatula, I move the stuff around in the pan to see if it’s salvageable.
It’s debatable.
If I turn the heat back on to cook the full strips of bacon, the eggs will likely be dried out and burnt, and if I say it’s okay to eat, we might end up with food poisoning.
Not wanting him to feel bad when he obviously tried, I look over at him. “Your attempt was gallant, but I think we should go out for breakfast.”
“Thank fuck.” His shoulders sag in relief, making me laugh.
Sitting on the steps in front of the cabin while Roman is on the phone inside, I smile as I watch two birds fly over the water and dive-bomb each other. We are supposed to leave tomorrow morning, and even with Roman and me going out every day to take in the sites and explore the area, I still haven’t found the spot for my mom’s ashes. I think it’s because something keeps pulling me right back here. She would have loved this spot. She would have been out here every morning, just like me, drinking coffee and watching the deer, who show up at the same time each day to drink from the pond and eat the tall grass at the water’s edge.
It's picturesque, even with the storm clouds rolling in over the pond, washing away the pretty pinks and blues reflected in the mirrored surface and turning it gray.
With my mind made up, I stand and head inside to get the bottle of her ashes that has traveled everywhere with me for the past few days. The moment I push through the door, Roman’s eyes track my every move, and when he sees me grab the bottle from the table where I placed it after we got back this evening and put it in my pocket, I hear him tell whoever he’s talking to that he has to get off the call.
“Where are we going?” he asks, tossing his phone to the bed as he stands.
“You don’t have to go with me. I know you’re working.” I grab my flannel off the back of the chair and slip it on.
“Where are we going?” he repeats, putting on his sneakers, and I stop to focus on him.
“To the other side of the pond.”
“All right.” He grabs his sweatshirt and puts it on, then walks to the door and holds it open for me.
When we get down the front steps, he takes my hand, and the two of us head around the edge of the pond. It isn’t very big, but it’s still large enough to take us some time to get to the area I picked from the cabin steps. Thunder rumbles in the distance as we walk, but Roman doesn’t pick up his pace or suggest we turn back. He walks beside me, only stopping when I pull the bottle from my pocket. It starts to sprinkle when we reach the large tree near the water’s edge, and I squat down, placing the bottle aside. As I start to dig, he comes over to join me, his hands and mine working in unison to create a hole in the soft dirt at the base of the tree. Once it’s a few inches deep, I take the bottle and dump the contents into the hole, then cover the fine dust with a layer of dirt.