Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 67644 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67644 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Going to the desk near the window, I searched out a notepad and pen.
My Belle,
I’ll treasure every second we spent together.
Love,
Griffith
Then I wrote my cell number and placed the note next to her on my pillow.
My eyes drank her in until I received a text that my car was there. With a sigh, I headed towards the elevator. This fucking sucked. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t looking forward to recording. Music had been knocked down a notch and was no longer my favorite thing. That spot now belonged to a curvy brunette with a sweet laugh and smoking body. I was more determined than ever to return to her as soon as possible.
Chapter 8
Belle
I’d always been more of a morning person than a night owl, but that’d changed in the past few weeks since I usually talked to Griffith when I was already in bed for the night. Our schedules were kind of opposite each other. Mine started bright and early so I could get to the flower shop with enough time to do all of the arrangements before any of the weddings started in the chapel. Rising Phoenix tended to burn the midnight oil in the studio, but every single night he ducked out of their work to call me. It was the lifeline I held onto while we were apart; that connection I had with him while we were on the phone.
Tonight was no different, but our conversation wasn’t providing me with the comfort it had for the first two and a half weeks. It hadn’t the last few times we talked, and I’d told myself I was just being over-sensitive. That I was imagining the feeling that Griffith’s interest in me was starting to wane. But I couldn’t keep denying it. I needed to know what the heck was going on with him. “You seem really distracted. Is everything okay?”
“Hmm?”
I rolled over and punched my pillow in frustration. “Is this a bad time to talk? Are they waiting for you in the studio or something?”
“They’re always waiting for me when I call you.”
Wow. Okay, his answer wasn’t super comforting. If anything, it only made me feel worse. “Yeah, but it never really bothered you before.”
“What?” His voice was muffled, as though his hand was over the phone because the question was meant for someone else.
“Never mind,” I muttered, my eyes filling with tears. “Go take care of whatever it is that’s so important, and I guess I’ll talk to you later.” Or not, at the rate we were going.
I didn’t wait for him to respond. I couldn’t, not unless I wanted him to hear me cry since I had a sob bubbling up my chest. After stabbing my finger at the screen to end the call, I powered my phone down and dropped it on the bedside table. As desperate as I was to hear his voice, I was more afraid of what he might say. I’d thought I was ready to push him to tell me what was going on, but I was wrong. I couldn’t bear to face the possibility that he was starting to distance himself because it would make it easier to break up with me.
It was probably childish of me to hang up on Griffith and turn my phone off so he couldn’t call me, but at the moment I just didn’t have it in me to be an adult. Not only was I sad and scared, I was also exhausted—physically and mentally. Curling my body around my pillow, I gripped the sleeves of the shirt I was wearing in my fists. It was one of Griffith’s, and I’d worn it to bed every night since he’d left. Crying myself to sleep, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the only thing I’d have left of him from our two nights together.
Early the next morning, I plastered a smile on my face when the bell above the flower shop door jingled. When I realized it was just Aurora, I gave up trying to impress anyone. It wasn’t worth the effort since there was no way a fake smile was going to fool my sister. She knew me too well.
“Dude. What’s going on with you? You look like the walking dead.” She rushed to my side and reached out to check my temperature by placing her wrist against my forehead. “Are you sick? Do we need to get someone in to cover for you so you can go home and rest? We can’t have you infecting any of our brides and grooms.”
I pushed her hand away and rolled my eyes at her overreaction. “No, I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”
Her familiar brown eyes, so much like my own, filled with worry. “You’ve been tired a lot lately, but this is a whole new level. You look like you’re about ready to faint any second.”