Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“Big true crime fans, huh?” I asked. “I can relate,” I admitted.
“I’m torn. As their father, I don’t want them exposed to all that ugly shit. But also as a man who won’t be able to always be there to protect them, I understand that being aware is being prepared. Guess them listening and watching that shit is like me forcing them to learn to change their own tires and have AAA, so they don’t need to rely on a stranger on the side of the road.”
“That’s a good way of putting it. And, for the record, all the true crime I’ve consumed in my life definitely helped me survive.”
“Glad to hear that,” he told me, giving my shoulder a squeeze before walking away to help his client move from one machine to the next.
Work was absolutely miserable for the next several hours. I mean, my job wasn’t usually all fun and joy, but I was usually able to get through it without feeling like I literally felt every damn second of my shift.
I was exhausted just two hours in. By mid-shift, I was downright miserable.
Then, like he’d sensed my need for outside news, my desire to hear from him even, my phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I couldn’t wait to sneak away to check it.
In the text was a picture of Boss and Tilly at the end of their leashes, walking the path around the koi pond at a park I loved.
Tiring them out before dinner, he wrote. Then, a moment later, What do you want for dinner?
Normally, on the nights when I worked late, I just ended up eating ramen or one of those frozen meals that did stuff like substitute the rice for cauliflower, so it felt somewhat healthy even if it was full of salt and preservatives.
I could cook, I texted, glancing around to make sure my client wasn’t looking for me, but she was still on the table, doing the alphabet with her foot.
Yeah? Was the immediate response. Cook what?
Anything you want.
It’ll be late. I don’t want you cooking if you’re tired.
God, he was sweet.
So, I’ll cook something quick. I had a whole folder full of twenty-minute recipes in my phone. How about Bourbon chicken over rice?
Sounds amazing.
I liked cooking for him. That made me feel very ‘traditional,’ but I couldn’t help it.
I finished with my one client, then took a quick coffee break that I spent ordering the groceries to make dinner with, having them delivered to my house for about the time I would be arriving there to gather some more supplies.
From there, we could drive back to Wells’s place, I could whip dinner together in about twenty minutes, and then we could eat, followed by falling into bed until we were both drained and satisfied.
It sounded like a dream.
It felt crazy that I had such a horrific experience to thank for the best thing that happened to me in a long time. Or ever. Probably ever. I literally couldn’t think of another time in my life when I’d been so happy.
The closest I got to this was when I got to go to a true crime convention, and meet some of my favorite true crime podcasters and YouTubers.
And that, yeah, it hadn’t come close to this.
This was a bone-deep kind of satisfaction.
The idea that more time with him would only bring more of this was almost unfathomable.
“Alrighty. I think that’s everything,” Kyle said after doing a quick walk around the facility to turn lights off, and double-check the coffee pot. “You ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” I agreed, practically bouncing with anticipation to get this evening going. And, while we hadn’t talked about it yet, we were both off for two whole days in a row. With nothing to keep us from each other.
I would be totally fine to spend seventy percent of that time in bed. The other thirty percent would be walking the dogs and eating.
It was the recipe for the perfect weekend.
Kyle moved outside with me after I set the alarm.
The police officer nodded at me, seeming to already know that I wouldn’t need him after this, so he pulled out of his space, but waited until Kyle led me to my car.
Then the two of them waited in their cars for me to back out of my space, and pull onto the main drag before they went their separate ways.
I was on cloud nine as I drove to my house.
Wells wasn’t there yet. I’d gotten a text saying he’d lost track of time, but was on his way.
When I pulled up, though, the grocery order had clearly arrived a few minutes early, judging by the car backed into my driveway, and the trunk popped open.
I climbed out, wanting to put the chicken and other cold ingredients in the insulated bag in my own car, so it would keep.