Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“I’ll check out the gas line.” He slams the lid on the washer closed, causing the water to start back up, then pushes it back into place while muttering, “You’re too beautiful to go up in smoke.”
Did he just call me beautiful?
He did. I know he did, but part of me still thinks I heard him wrong. After years with my parents and more years with my ex, I see what they saw when I look at myself in the mirror. A woman with great hair that’s not quite red and not really blonde. Fair skin and too many freckles. Overly large blue eyes and full lips, and a body that would have been the norm if I lived in the era of Marilyn Monroe. Unfortunately a size ten/ twelve nowadays is considered unacceptable and unattractive, and stupidly for years and years I starved myself and worked out like crazy, attempting to try to make myself fit in.
Not that it ever happened. I’ve never been smaller than a size eight, and since my divorce, I’ve been wearing a size twelve, sometimes even a fourteen. I don’t think I’m ugly; I consider myself passably pretty, but definitely not beautiful. Thinking about it, I don’t think anyone has ever called me beautiful before.
I dig my nails into my palms and push those thoughts and everything else about my past into the back of my mind, when Tide speaks again. “I’ll take a look at the damage downstairs and make sure everything is hooked up properly before I go.”
“Okay,” I agree quietly, focusing on him.
His eyes hold mine for a moment, the look within their crystal-blue depths making me feel like he sees more than he should be able to. Like he knows exactly what I’m feeling and thinking. The moment is broken when he motions for me to move. I take my cue and head back down the stairs ahead of him, more aware now than before of my lack of clothing. When I reach the bottom, I walk past the kitchen, into the living room, and look up. The ceiling has crumbled further, leaving a large gaping hole and watermarks traveling across where the drywall was taped together.
“Shit,” he hisses.
I turn and look at him. “What?”
“Babe, the whole ceiling in here is gonna have to be replaced.” His eyes dip toward the floor. “The carpet too. Maybe even the floor under it.”
“How much?”
“Pardon?”
“How much is it going to cost to have all that done?”
“A few grand,” he says, studying me and seeming a little surprised by my question.
“Great,” I groan. I mean, I have a little money set aside for emergencies and a little more tucked away for renovations, but this unexpected catastrophe is not what I planned on dumping money into. “Maybe I can just pretend like it’s a skylight.”
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I turn around and move toward the kitchen. I might be able to pretend like the hole in the living room is a skylight, but I can’t pretend like the stove I have yet to use might be a bomb. “Can you make sure I won’t die if I decide to turn this thing on?” I slap my hand on the top of the stove. Yesterday at Target, I bought a coffee pot, one of those cheap ones. I also bought coffee, Diet Coke, bagels, and cream cheese, since I could eat bagels cold for both breakfast and lunch.
“Sara said you’re some big-time author,” Tide starts, and every inch of me grows tense as he comes toward me. “I don’t think you need to stress about a few grand.”
“I’m not a big-time author. I’m just an author, and a few grand is a lot of fricking money when you’re responsible for taking care of another living, breathing human being besides yourself.”
His expression changes at my statement, and he mutters, “Point taken,” before he pulls out the stove and hops behind it. “Gas line is good. You’re safe to use it.” He hops back out then pushes it into place. When he’s done, he starts to move toward the door. He stops with his hand on the handle then turns to look at me. “If you pay for supplies, I’ll cut you a deal on labor. Come do the work myself after I’m done with my other job for the day. It won’t be much of a discount, maybe a few hundred dollars, but it’s something.”
My chest gets tight, and my throat burns.
“That said, I’m gonna assume you want to get started on repairs, so you’ll need to let me know where you want to go from here.”
I pull in a shaky breath and let it out. “You don’t have to cut me a deal or do that. I have some money put aside for renovations; I’ll dig into that. But thank you. That offer is really sweet.”