Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“It’s not far,” I tell her. “I’ve got my files in the back.”
I’m looking at the road, so it’s difficult to be sure, but I think I see her shoulders slump out of the corner of my eye, almost like she’s disappointed I’m making this about work right away. “Oh … good.”
“How did your mom react when you told her you’d run into me?”
“I didn’t,” Lily murmurs. “Honestly, she hates talking about before she got clean. I think she feels as if everything was her fault. It doesn’t matter if I tell her she’s wrong. She was a good mom despite everything. He was the problem.”
“That’s a mature perspective,” I say, “but I shouldn’t be surprised. You thought the same back then. You were determined to stay with your mom.”
“I knew she was a good person in a bad place, that’s all.”
“That’s one hell of an insight for a girl in your spot,” I tell her.
“Yeah, well, maybe I’ve always been a genius.” She laughs, then says, “That was a joke, but clearly not very funny.”
She’s talking about the fact I didn’t laugh. As we stop at a red light, I turn to her with a smirk. Her hands are resting on her legs, almost like she’s trying to draw attention to her flawless shape.
“Maybe I don’t see it as a joke.”
She rolls her eyes. “So I’m a genius, then, am I, Mr. Cross?”
“See, you remembered my surname. You must have a next-level intellect.”
“Ha ha,” she says, slapping my arm. She quickly snatches her hand back when we make contact, and then the light changes, so I’m forced to focus on the road.
The moment seems to hold more meaning. The warmth and sensation of her touch lingers on my arm, sizzling through my body. Months, not years … “Months” is so vague. It could be as few as two. I may only have sixty days to take the chances I never took before, to stop being so reserved and cautious, always making intelligent decisions, weighing the pros and cons.
“Have you had a busy day?” she asks.
“Yeah, meetings, meetings, and more meetings.”
“It must be tough working with so many depressing cases, huh?”
I glance at her when I hear the hitch in her voice. She looks back at me with compassion in her eyes, with true meaning in her expression. That’s when it hits me. She thinks I do this charity-style work all the time. She thinks it’s my main job. I hope I’ve got it wrong, but I don’t think I have. Even worse, I don’t correct her.
“Coming from you, that means a lot,” I say.
“I argue with my boss about this,” she replies. “I always tell him we shouldn’t have to be miserable. If we build a wall between work and our home life, we should be able to stay sane. He thinks I’m just green.”
“Hmm,” I mutter.
“What do you think?” She’s so bubbly, so animated. It’s so damn attractive. I think I finally understand when people describe others as magnetic.
“I think it can wear on a person,” I say. “Sometimes, a person has to choose their own sanity.” That’s the excuse I’ve given myself repeatedly for letting the pro bono work slide. “It also depends on the person. Not everybody is built like you.”
“Like me?”
“Naturally optimistic. With a natural desire to do right. Forgiving. Caring. Determined.”
I need to chill. Months, not years …
“You can tell all that about me, can you?”
“I saw it ten years ago, Lily,” I say. “Now, I can just see that nothing’s changed.”
Her smile is all the reward a man could ever want. She turns away, looking out the window, almost embarrassed by the praise. “Yeah, yeah …”
“No need to act surprised. You must hear that all the time.”
“I just try to focus on one task, then the next, then the next. Any big-picture stuff always makes my head spin.”
“Your boyfriend probably lets you know plenty.” I throw the word “boyfriend” out before I can think twice about it.
“Oh, boyfriend? No time for that.”
I nod. “Yeah, you must be really busy.”
“Beyond busy. I’ve got no time for boyfriends or to even think about boyfriends.”
This is where I should receive her hint—well, not even a hint—loud and clear, but I don’t. All I can think of is that our lives are short. If we don’t think we have time for something or somebody, we should make time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LILY
“Damon O’Connell,” I repeat, looking down at the photo of the red-haired man wearing a checkered shirt. “So, he’s the person who owns the bar?”
“Basically, yes,” Landon replies. “Technically, it’s his childhood friend, but yeah, it might as well be Damon.”
We’re sitting in the corner booth of a midscale restaurant. It’s a family-friendly place, further convincing me he didn’t intend this to be romantic. The only slipup I made was when I playfully touched his arm. I never do things like that.