Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
I’m mesmerized.
And then the coffee machine beeps, and I’m yanked from my trance, seeing steam rising and dissipating. I look back to the view. The bird is gone. Flown away.
Fly away.
I glance around the kitchen, to the endless frosted glass cupboards, and start opening them in search of cups. The first reveals stacks of glass plates and bowls. The second endless glasses. The third glass coffee cups. Glass. So much glass, so much transparency. Is it indicative of the man asleep upstairs?
I got caught up in an explosion.
I feel awful for wishing he hadn’t told me. It makes it all too real. Makes me more curious. It also deepens the connection that I’m feeling, and that’s not good. His burn is of a similar severity as mine, but bigger. So much bigger. A deep partial thickness burn. One layer of skin away from destroying nerve-endings. I often thought that would have been a blessing. No nerves, no pain. Instead, we both endured excruciating agony, and now unsightly scars. We’re the same.
I bite my lip, pondering that, as I make two coffees, finding my way around his kitchen with relative ease. When I make it back to the bedroom, James is still sound asleep. I place his cup on the nightstand and take mine to the window. I feel like an ant, surrounded by giant buildings. Not seen. But so very exposed.
I hear movement behind me and turn with my cup to my lips, finding James propped up against the headboard. I smile mildly over my coffee. He swallows, casting his eyes to the side, finding his own. “Did you sleep well?” he asks, raking a hand through his bedhead before reaching for his cup.
“Too good.” I pad over and settle on the side of the bed, unable to resist a leisurely jaunt with my eyes up his bare chest. “You?”
He takes a sip of his drink, resting back. “Too good,” he replies, taking me in, quietly observant. “What are you doing today?”
“I don’t know. What are you doing?”
He releases a hand from his cup and takes one of mine, caressing the back of it slowly. “I have a few errands to run. You could hang out here if you like.”
“I should probably go make peace with my uncle.”
His lips twist a fraction, but he nods, if mildly. “And later?”
I study him, unable to hold back a small smile. I feel like he’s taking the long route to where he wants to be. Where I want to be too. “Would you like to do something?” I ask, looking at his thumb circling the top of my hand.
“Like?”
“Opera we won’t watch,” I say, peeking up for his reaction.
“Or dinner we won’t eat?” Naturally, there’s no reference to Goldie. “Or asking questions we won’t answer.” He hitches a brow, and I discreetly roll my eyes, pulling my hand free and standing, setting my cup down.
“I saw that,” he says lowly.
“You were supposed to,” I counter, heading into his bathroom. “What errands do you have to run?” I ask, the question falling out of my mouth. I stop at the threshold of his bathroom and frown to myself. I can feel his eyes on my back. “Never mind.”
“I have a safety deposit account I need to close,” he says, almost tentatively.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need it anymore.”
“Do people even have safety deposit boxes these days?”
“I do.”
I turn to face him. “And what do you keep in it?”
He raises his brows at my annoying curiosity. “Personal effects. You don’t have one?”
“A safety deposit box? No.” I have nothing sacred worth hiding in a safety deposit box. I pick up my feet and go to the sink, splashing my face and ruffing up my hair as I take in my reflection. I look . . . rested, which defies reason when my mind is racing with endless questions.
As I pat my face dry, James appears past me in the mirror, his coffee in his hand. He holds my eyes as he sips. I don’t like the assessment I’m under. The judgments being made. I feel like he’s taunting me. Goading me, tempting me. The air around us feels awkward, and that’s not what I’m here for. “I’ll leave you to your day,” I say, placing the towel on the unit and approaching him. He doesn’t move from the doorway, his big body filling it, blocking me. I stop before him, virtually toe to toe, and I tilt my head back to get him in my sights. “Excuse me.” I sound assertive. I feel anything but.
His gaze lingers on me for a while, until he slowly moves aside, letting me pass. I collect my shoes and hurry down the stairs, locating my dress and shimmying it on. I press the call button as I fasten the zip, and the doors open.