Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“We’ll have to because I will never fly that airline again. I’m sure they already have our photos circulating on the do-not-fly list.” I still giggle.
Although it feels like we got away with something, I’ve crossed lines with him that I wouldn’t have with anyone else. He brings out a wilder side of me. I take the bait he throws out as dares not to prove him wrong or score points to laud over his head. I do it because he reminds me of how carefree I used to be. The accident changed so much, but he’s put me back in touch with a side I thought died that day despite my surviving.
The tattoo itself is a daily reminder of living on dares and whims, taking advantage of blue-sky days, and falling for blue-eyed men. My breath stills in my chest as I look at him. When he smiles and the sun catches light in his eyes, I can’t stop from staring at him as if he’s always been the one.
With my hand pressed to my chest, I slowly exhale, afraid if I look away, the feeling will disappear. And then he smiles, splintering apart that door previously unlocked and allowing his light to shine in.
“I’m thinking the roast on this flight?” he asks. “What does the chef recommend?”
“Barbecue.”
He scans the menu again with his brows pulled together. “I didn’t see that as an option.”
“No,” I reply. Resting my hand on his arm residing between us, I shake my head. “I ate barbecue in Texas.”
The lines scribbled across his forehead don’t ease. “It’s Texas. From what I remember, it’s barbecue, Tex-Mex, and Whataburger.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“So go with the beef?”
I take the menu and set it on his lap. “No . . . Well, yes, the roast will probably be a safe bet for airline food. But I’m talking about that weekend in Austin, the one lost in time that I can’t remember.”
“Oh. You ate barbecue.” A smile splits his cheeks as he cups my face. “You ate barbecue.” He kisses me and then says, “You remember.”
“Yeah.” His happiness is too contagious. “I remember eating barbecue.”
“That’s fantastic, baby. But we might want to say it a few more times to let it really sink in.”
I land my elbow against his arm, causing him to burst out laughing.
“Don’t make fun. Any progress is good.”
“It is good you remembered the food. I remember it being damn good as well.” He wraps me in a playful headlock and brings me closer to kiss my forehead. He doesn’t rush it. He lingers, and then whispers, “I can’t wait until you remember the rest of that weekend.”
Laird keeps his promises.
I love that. It’s a rare trait in the men I’ve dated.
Admittedly, seeing him take up space in my one-bedroom apartment is strange. He left his bag, along with my suitcases, by the door and made himself at home. I love that he’s so comfortable wandering around without me guiding him, and he even got himself a glass of water. It also gives me a few minutes to shower after our long day of travel.
Though it’s nice to have him here, it’s also nothing special, not like his house, which has an amazing view. I think the only perk is that there are plenty of restaurants and stores closer to where I live than out where he is in Malibu. That helped when we stopped at Tito’s Tacos to grab takeout on the way here.
“I didn’t love the job.”
He stops in front of my small bookcase and looks back at me in the kitchen. I take a big drink of water. After scarfing down two tacos, I still feel dehydrated from the plane. “The family wasn’t nice?”
“The family was great. I just don’t think cooking in a galley kitchen is something I want to do again. I didn’t feel I was producing my best dishes, then add in the hassle of dealing with the scullery. It felt more like just fuel than something special.”
“Why is that?”
“The artistry is gone from my creations. I’m unenthused to reinvent the chicken breast anymore. I think I lost my passion for cooking.”
He comes over to me, consuming me in his arms, not caring that my damp hair is soaking his shirt. “Or your inspiration.”
“Good point.”
“Go easy on yourself. You’ve had a lot going on. Your mother’s wedding to being gone for weeks and on the clock twenty-four seven. Take a few days and get some rest. There’s no rush to make any major decisions.”
“You’re right. All does not have to be decided tonight.”
He says, “You’re fortunate. You get to choose the journey you want to take.” Continuing to rub my back, he dips his head down, cradling his head next to mine. “I sure am glad you’re back.”
So much truth dropped that my mind should be reeling, but he’s right. Nothing has to be decided right this minute. Also, I’m a bit distracted. I’m not sure how he still smells amazing after hours on planes and in airports, but he’s managed it. I take in a deep breath, pulling his scent into my lungs. “I am too. I needed this. I needed you.”