Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Then I should definitely go.” He came over to the bed where I was curled up on my side and kissed my forehead. “Because you’re down to getting only a few hours in. And if I stayed, you’d get no sleep at all.”
I smiled. “Probably not.”
He bent down and tied his shoes. “I think the rest of my clothes are in the living room.”
“I can walk you out,” I said, attempting to sit up.
“No.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “You go to sleep. I can find my way out.”
“I have to lock the door anyway.” Dragging myself off the bed, I tugged the pink shirt over my head and followed him to the living room. Switching on the light, I laughed when I spied his T-shirt over by the wall and his hoodie halfway between the wall and the front door.
He put them on, not bothering to tuck in the shirt or zip the hoodie. At the front door, he pulled me into his arms once more. “Sorry I kept you up.”
“Liar,” I said against his chest.
“You’re right. That is a lie.” He loosened his arms and pressed his lips to mine. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I nodded. “Night.”
“Night.” He took a few steps off the porch, then turned around and came back to me. Putting a hand on the back of my neck, he rested his forehead on mine. “Ari, I just want to tell you . . . you’re amazing.”
Despite my exhaustion, every nerve ending in my body lit up like the Fourth of July. “Thank you.”
“And I wouldn’t change a thing about tonight.”
“Me neither.”
He picked up his head and met my eyes. “Or about you.”
Smiling, I touched his cheek. “You better get out of here, or I’m not going to let you leave.”
With one last grin, he backed off and headed down the walk.
After shutting the door and locking it behind him, I stood there for a moment with my forehead pressed against it. I heard his engine come to life, the sound fading as he drove down the street.
I pinched my arm. Then my leg and my side and my cheek.
But this day still didn’t seem real.
I was a zombie the next morning at work, but I was the most cheerful zombie you can imagine. Every time I thought about the previous twenty-four hours, my heart would skip and my insides would turn cartwheels. When I caught a glimpse of myself in the diner’s bathroom mirror, I cringed for a second—bags under my eyes, bun sloppier than usual, the lower half of my face chafed a bit from Dash’s scruff.
But then I smiled. Because the girl in the mirror looked tired but completely happy. And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her that way.
I made it through my shift and went home, ditching my shoes and crashing hard face down on the couch in my diner uniform. Bone-weary, I fell into a deep sleep the second my eyes closed.
My dreams were good.
TWELVE
dash
I knocked on Ari’s front door around six o’clock, a bag of groceries under one arm and a scrap of paper in my pocket I hoped would change everything.
She didn’t answer, but she’d left the garage door open, and I’d seen her car parked inside. I knocked again, a little harder this time. A full minute later, the door opened.
I smiled as she blinked at the fading sunlight. It was obvious she’d been asleep. Still wearing her diner uniform, she had sleep lines on her face, the bun on the top of her head was listing precariously to one side, and that might have been drool on her lower lip.
She wiped at it with the back of her wrist. “Hey.”
“Hi. Were you sleeping?”
“Yeah.” She touched her hair. “I must look like I’ve been through it.”
“You look beautiful. Can I come in?”
“Of course.” She stepped back so I could enter, and after she closed the door behind me, I set the grocery bag down and scooped her in close for a hug. She smelled like maple syrup and bacon.
“Sorry to wake you,” I said.
“It’s okay. I need to get out of this uniform.”
“I can definitely assist with that.”
She laughed. “No acts of vulnerability until I take a shower.”
“That’s fine. While you’re doing that, I’ll make dinner for us.” I picked up my grocery bag and headed for the kitchen.
“You’re going to make dinner?” The surprise in her voice was evident as she trailed me through the living room.
“Yes. You’re not the only one who knows how to cook, Miss Fancypants Culinary School.” I set the bag on the counter and pulled out a package of meat, two potatoes, and a bag of broccoli rabe. “Can I use your big iron skillet?”
“Yes. Cupboard to the left of the oven.” She peeked into the bag to see what else was in there. “Are those steaks? Is that burrata? What’s the lemon for? Ooooh, pinot noir, my favorite.”