Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 142833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
"Well, now I'm intrigued, so yeah, you hafta tell me." I always want to know as much about Tor as possible because he's not like anyone else I've ever met before.
"This bottle used to belong to my great grandfather. He started putting coins in it when he was twelve years old, and when he fell in love with my great grandmother, he dumped out all the change and that's what he used to buy her engagement ring, because he didn't have much money. Then he gave the jug to my grandfather, who did the same."
I smile at him, happy that he shared such a close family memory with me. "Wow, that's pretty cool. Did your dad do the same with your mom's ring?"
"Yup, and then he gave it to me when I was fourteen. My brothers each have a bottle too, but this one here was my great grandfather’s, so it means a lot to me."
Fascinated with the romance of the tradition, I stare at the jug, wondering how many quarters and dimes are in there. One time I guessed how many jellybeans were in a bottle for a class project and was only off by two, but this is way harder.
"How much money do you think is in there?" I ask with curiosity.
"I'm not sure. A lot. A few thousand at least."
"Damn. That's going to be a big diamond."
He ruffles my hair and stands up. "I'm sure she'll be worth it. If I ever get married, that is. The bottle's almost full and I don't exactly have anyone to propose to. I hope I don't wreck the family tradition and end up with just a big bottle of money."
"I seriously doubt that."
My heart twinges with a slight beat of jealousy over the woman who will someday get to be Mrs. Toren Grace.
Tor
I see we haven't been properly introduced. I'm the asshole who broke the fragile heart of a seventeen-year-old girl by telling her she can't give me what I want and need.
The reality of it all is that I think she's probably the only woman on the planet who actually can give me everything I've ever wanted, needed, and dreamed of. Somewhere the universe fucked up big and screwed up our timing. I should have been younger. She should have been older. We should've met as strangers, bumping into each other in some random way. As I stand under the shower and let the hot water spray over me, I can see in my mind how we should have met. She'd be rushing out of the cafe, on her way to the craft store to buy parchment paper and ink the color of night for her favorite fountain pen. I'd be walking down the sidewalk, and we'd crash into each other. She'd drop her purse, and I'd bend down to help her pick up her things. There'd be a penny on the ground, and when I hand it to her, our fingers would touch. She'd look at me with those big green eyes and that shy smile of hers that fucking shatters me, and that would be the start of our forever. She'd be wearing jeans with holes in the knees, an eighties band t-shirt, little leather motorcycle boots with pink socks peeking out of the tops, and that beanie on her head with the purple heart that would eventually become mine. Her sensual cuteness would captivate me, and I'd force up the courage ask her out, afraid of never seeing this magical little creature again. She'd write her number on my hand in writing so beautiful that I'd never want to wash it off. Instead I'd take a picture of it so I can keep it forever and call it the 'the day my wife gave me her phone number'.
Why couldn't the powers that be given us that scenario?
I wonder what made little Kenzi Valentine decide I was husband material when she was just five years old. And fuck me, I think she still believes that. I can see it in her eyes in the way she looks at me like I'm the only person in the world that matters, and it literally stalls my heart. She's been committed to me in her own way for twelve years, which is twisted irony considering that no one else has been capable of that.
Stepping out of the steamy shower, I wrap a white towel around my waist and head out to the kitchen to make my morning protein shake and there she is, standing at the window in my dining room looking out at the back yard.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" I ask, and then turn to the dog, who's just sitting there acting like it's okay for anyone to waltz into our house. "And why the hell don't you bark when people come in? You suck as a dog."