Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 111775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Glancing at the dash, I saw I had some time to spare. “Do you mind waiting a few minutes, so I can finish these?”
Of course, Shay signed, sitting back in the driver’s seat, his head turned my way.
Thank you, I signed back at him, and his expression warmed.
I was vaguely aware of him pulling out his phone before he typed, “How did it go with Jonathan?”
I blew out a breath, taking a small break from shovelling noodles into my mouth. “It was good, a little depressing, though. By all accounts, my biological father was … not a great person, but I like Jonathan. I’ve decided I’m going to keep working for him and building a relationship.”
“You like him?” Shay asked, surprised.
I nodded. “He’s a decent man underneath it all. There’s a vulnerability to him, as well. I think he might be unhappy, lonely, really. He doesn’t talk to his mother anymore because she married someone he didn’t approve of. I think he wants to make amends but is too proud to reach out.”
“If my mother were still alive, there’s nothing in the world that would keep me from talking to her,” Shay said.
“Yes, well, not everyone is as open and loving as you are,” I replied, and his eyes heated. Flustered, I motioned to the food, “Thank you for this. It was so thoughtful. I better be getting in there before Mr Cole thinks I flaked on him.”
I closed up the noodles and set them aside. Then Shay leaned forward, his thumb wiping gently at the corner of my mouth. My breath caught. I knew there must’ve been something on my lips, sauce maybe. Shay’s eyes never left mine as he licked whatever it was from his thumb, then sat back. My heart was pounding. Was that his way of breaking me down? Turn me on so much I forgot why I was mad at him?
I emerged from the car; my cheeks warm as I dashed across the street. I let myself into the house when my phone vibrated with a text. It was from Shay.
Be back at 10:30 p.m. to pick you up.
I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips, not to mention the relief. Being driven around took away a lot of the stress of working back-to-back shifts.
And that was how the rest of the week went. Shay had requisitioned his father’s car to drive me to and from work. I didn’t bother eating at home because there was always food waiting for me when I got into the car. I started to feel guilty because I still wasn’t ready to go back to where we were.
I noticed Shay looked tired, like he hadn’t been sleeping. His hands on the steering wheel were stained with charcoal and flecks of paint. It made me wonder if he’d been staying up late to work on his art.
Was he throwing himself into a creative outlet to deal with the crack that had formed between us?
No, if anything, the crack was beginning to seal shut over the course of the week, my heart and chest full of feelings and warmth. I was almost there, almost ready to start trusting and opening up to him again.
On Friday, I was disappointed when Shay told me he wouldn’t be able to drive me to my later cleaning shift. He’d promised Rhys he’d cover for him at the hotel that night. It was fine, though. I was more than capable of walking and taking the bus.
After saying an emotional farewell to Marco and the Connollys, I headed home on the late bus, needing to sleep for at least ten hours to recover. I’d finished working my notice, and Jonathan’s office was closed until the New Year. I had ten days of blissful time off. As I let myself into my flat and slipped off my shoes, I got a strange sense someone had been inside. Was it Siobhan? She had a spare key for my flat in case of emergencies.
It was as I was asking myself that question that I turned and saw the large picture that hung on my normally bare wall. My keys and bag clattered to the floor as I took it in, clutching my chest as tears sprang forth.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and it was … me.
22.
Maggie
I didn’t understand why I was crying. The picture, done in paint and charcoal, was clearly Shay’s work. I studied the array of colours, the intricate detail. How long had he spent on it? The image was of a woman sitting on a bed. Her long, auburn hair fell down her naked back, her face turned towards the window. The profile and body shape were familiar. No, not merely familiar. Mine.
The picture somehow encouraged the eye to travel down my hair where it evolved into a flock of birds of every variety and colour. The birds flew out the window, where my gaze was levelled, as though watching them fly away.