Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Troy shifts in his seat. “I don’t give a fuck about your father, to be honest. I only wondered how you were doing.”
His genuine concern slays me. It hits me smack dab in the middle of my heart.
“It’s too much to process in one car ride, that’s for sure,” I say, widening my eyes to keep tears from spilling down my cheeks.
We sit quietly while I drive through the beautiful streets of Savannah. Troy doesn’t push me to talk, and I’m grateful for that—just like I’m grateful he asked. It’s such a weird position to be in. On the one hand, knowing someone sees you and cares about you is wonderful. On the other hand, being seen pricks a person’s vulnerability. And if there’s one thing that makes me antsy these days, it’s being vulnerable.
I turn onto the road leading to Landry Security when a text cuts through the air. Freddy’s name is printed across my dash for everyone, for Troy, to see.
“You’re popular today,” he says, unamused.
I swiftly swipe the notification away.
Another one pops up.
Troy stares holes into the side of my face.
I swipe Freddy’s second and third texts off the screen. “He thinks he left his sunglasses at my house.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.”
I sigh. “Yeah. I know it.”
We pull into the parking lot, and I back the car into my spot. The engine stops, but we don’t move. We sit together in the comfortable silence.
The safety of the space—of the car, parked next to Ford, and sitting next to Troy—allows me to let my guard down and breathe.
Troy didn’t have to ask how I was doing, but he did. He could’ve talked shop or sat in silence, but he chose to inquire on a personal level. That matters to me. There’s a sweetness under those heavy brows and that mass of muscle. I wish I could see it more.
“Thank you,” I say.
“For what?”
I shrug, looking straight ahead at the block building. “I don’t want to say you care because God knows you’d have an aneurysm if anyone labeled you as having emotions.” I glance at him and grin. “But despite your rudeness to my friends …”
His eyes narrow, making me laugh.
“And your assumption that I’m going to text you right back … and the way you intentionally irritate the hell out of me, you carefully go beyond being my co-worker in a way that means a lot to me.” I lean toward him, then regret that move immediately. He smells divine. Why can’t he be an overbearing, decrepit, stinks-to-high-heaven ogre? “You aren’t creepy. That’s what that means.”
“Good to know.”
“Now, you’re going to buy me lunch today, or I’m going to tell everyone in the office you’re nice.”
He groans and opens his door.
“I want a good lunch, too,” I say, climbing out of the car. “There’s that little deli two streets over with the monster chocolate chip cookies that they serve warm. Do you know the one I mean?”
He holds the door to the building open for me. “I thought you wanted lunch?”
“I do.”
“Then why are we talking about cookies?”
I hit the fob and my car horn goes off once, twice, and then three times. Troy shakes his head, muttering something about overkill, and follows me inside.
“Because cookies are dessert,” I say. “And dessert is the biggest part of lunch. You can have a little before the meal as a reward for making it halfway through the day. Then you eat for sustenance. Then you finish it with another piece of dessert to get you through the rest of your day.”
“You don’t need a reward for everything in life, you know.”
“Why do people keep saying that to me?”
He stops at my office door and faces me. Flecks of gold sparkle in his eyes. “Do you want ham and provolone, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickle? Honey mustard and light mayo?”
My smile splits my cheeks. “And two cookies.”
“Of course.” He heads down the hallway. “And two cookies.”
I laugh and get to work with the promise of lunch as a motivator.
Who am I trying to kid?
Seeing Troy again is the real dessert … and, thank God, he doesn’t even know it.
Chapter Six
Dahlia
“That class just kicked my ass,” I say, smiling at the owner of the yoga studio I’ve frequented for a couple of years. “Where do you find these instructors?”
Mallory laughs. “You should see the ones I don’t hire. I’m doing you a favor.”
“That’s … scary.” I laugh, too. “I’ll see you on Friday.”
“See you then.”
I give her a little wave and then step outside onto the curb.
The warm evening air kisses my sweaty skin as I carry my mat to my car. The stunning sky shows off a vivid, beautiful spectrum of colors, reminding me of my mother. Mom always loved the setting sun. Her last request before she passed away three years ago was to open the curtains so she could watch the sunset. The universe didn’t let her down. That sunset was the most beautiful spectacle I’ve ever seen, and thinking about it brings tears to my eyes.