Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
She grunts. “I’d jump all over that. Make it not platonic,” she suggests. “Put the moves on the man.”
“That’s called assault.”
“Yikes. Okay… well, strike that from the plan.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Maybe try at the truth?”
“Which is?” I practically whisper, dreading the thought of airing my truths.
“You like him. You want more.”
“Ugh,” I groan. “That’s not happening. I’m not in the business of putting my heart on the line, Emma, and you know that.”
“Maybe that’s your problem. You’re too guarded.”
I purse my lips; despite the fact she can’t see my reaction to her less-than-appreciated comment. “And you’re too opinionated today.”
She chuckles. “I only want what’s best for you.”
Sighing deeply, I grab a gallon of milk from the cooler and place it in my cart.
“What’s best for me is making money and getting off your couch permanently.”
“I don’t like it. The couch isn’t the same without you.”
I laugh. “I miss you too.”
“Call me when you get the lady balls to tell the man that you love him.”
“I don’t.”
Good God. The thought of Aiden hearing those words gives me the chills. He’d run for his life. Love isn’t something that Aiden is comfortable with. Never has been. Which shouldn’t be surprising, considering his upbringing. The man didn’t have love from the person who should’ve loved him above all others.
It pissed me off then, and it still pisses me off today.
“Whatever,” she singsongs. “I’ll catch you later.”
I end the call, shaking my head. Emma is a character. One I cherish immensely. But she’s far braver than I am. Unafraid to be herself. To put her love on her sleeve and offer it to the first man she falls for. She’d own her feelings without thought.
That’s not me.
I’m petrified to own up to who I truly am. The thought of spilling my feelings gives me hives.
I spend the rest of the day grocery shopping, folding laundry, sorting it in his closet the way Aiden prefers, and trying to forget all about Emma’s suggestion. I almost miss the sound of the door creaking open and Aiden’s heavy footsteps padding down the hall to begin his rituals before dinner.
He won’t have much to do today because I’ve done all that I could for him.
“Someone’s been busy,” Aiden says, sauntering into the kitchen in a fresh pair of black joggers and a gray short-sleeve Henley shirt, not even ten minutes later. “It smells delicious. What is it?”
“Pasta Bolognese. Your fav—”
I slam my mouth closed, recognizing my near-fatal error. Of course, I know what Aiden’s favorite food is. It was something he told me long ago. But he hasn’t told Cassidy. That slip could’ve cost me greatly.
“It’s one of my favorites,” I amend. “I hope you like it. I should’ve asked before.”
He blinks, narrows his eyes, purses his lips, and for a moment, I hold my breath. Did he catch my blunder? Is he working it out?
“I haven’t had pasta Bolognese in a long time,” he says, eyes zeroing in on me.
I squirm under his gaze, wondering what he’s thinking. What’s to come? Will he throw me out or welcome me with open arms?
I shrug, trying to play it nonchalantly. “It’s quick and easy. I’ve been so busy today, I had to choose something fast.”
He nods and looks away. I breathe for the first time in minutes, shoulders slouching when his back is turned.
“How long until it’s ready?”
“Now. If you want to take a seat, I’ll put some on a plate for you,” I say, moving toward the stove where I have the piping hot pasta waiting.
I measure out three cups and cut a piece of garlic bread into the perfect square, just the way he’ll want it. When I set the plate down, I watch him closely. He takes his first bite, and I relish at the way his eyes close around a moan. I can’t stop the wide smile spreading across my face.
“This is incredible. I knew you could cook, but this is something else.”
“I learned early on,” I admit. “I spent most of my life cooking.”
“You’ve clearly mastered cooking. It’s so good,” he says, and I blush under his compliment.
“That comes with a lot of hard work,” I say, chuckling.
He takes a bite, eyes never straying from me. “Tell me about yourself. Something you’re comfortable sharing with me.”
Internally, I panic. What in the hell can I possibly say that wouldn’t tip him off? He knows so much about my early years, so I decide to artfully pass over those, and go straight to the years in which he’s been absent.
“I’ve had a host of odd jobs. Mostly to save up money for grad school. I want to be a social worker.” I take a bite of pasta, trying to determine how much to say.
“Yeah, you said that before, but I have to ask, what drew you to it?”