Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
He makes me feel so safe already. The cake is not enough, but it’s a start. I want to give him everything. Saint is… unreal. He makes the effort most people don’t.
“Let’s do that if I don’t manage, but I want to try and see how I feel with the door closed, if that’s okay with you.”
One deep breath later, I take another step inside with him holding my hand, and take in the bare-bones apartment that’s eerily similar to mine but way blander. No wonder, he only arrived yesterday and surely he keeps his stuff where his real home is.
“Sure! Test out whatever you need,” he says and presses a kiss to my forehead.
I could melt. He’s so kind to me. I’d say I don’t deserve it, but after all the miserable times I’ve been through, don’t I deserve some kindness?
“The setup of this place is a mirror of mine. My bedroom is on the other side. But you have a nicer kitchen,” I point out the granite countertops. Maybe being in Saint’s space won’t be so frightening after all? Maybe I’ve just wound myself up over the years?
I remember this one girl telling me she was extremely afraid of spiders, yet one day she posted a photo of herself holding a tarantula in her hand, just like that. Apparently, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision for her, so maybe it could work the same way for me? Maybe I was more terrified of the idea of being in an apartment with someone else, and could actually convince myself that it isn’t reasonable?
Saint’s mouth quirks, and he shows me the cutting board surrounded by several vegetables, including one I have never seen.
“I hope you like fennel,” he says with a mysterious smile and returns to his work as I glance at the sofa I saw carried in yesterday. There are two books resting next to it on the floor, and Saint doesn’t even have a TV. If I were him, I’d have stayed in a hotel, but maybe he doesn’t care much about conveniences beyond the kitchen?
“I’m not sure. I don’t know vegetables all that well, but on the other hand, I don’t exactly check the ingredients of the meals I buy, so maybe I had it and don’t even know. That must sound very uncultured to you.” I laugh, more at ease by the minute. “Is it okay to leave the door open?” I ask as I make it all the way to a small dining table with two chairs and put the cheesecake in the middle.
“Sure, whatever’s most comfortable. And fennel has this particular taste not everyone likes, but if you hate the salad, I can just cut up some tomatoes for you instead,” Saint says and places a white vegetable on the chopping board. He uses a massive knife to cut it in half, and then proceeds to slam it down at lightning speed, without ever fully taking the blade off the board.
My eyebrows rise and for a moment, the fact that I’m alone with someone else retreats to the very back of my mind. “Oh, my God! You’re so good with the knife. You sure you’re not a chef?”
Hazel eyes meet mine, and he grins, shaking his head. “I am sure. It’s just a matter of practice. I really like cooking and food. It got me through some really bad times, and when I feed myself well, I feel like I’m taking care of myself,” he says and starts chopping the vegetable lengthwise.
What is this guy not good at?
“Are you a rule follower or can we have dessert first?” I wink at him and point at the pink box, more at ease. Even my heart is slowing its crazy pace.
Saint snorts and raises his knife, wiggling it as if it were a finger meant to call out bad behavior. “Lunch first. We’re gonna be civilized about this and take our time savoring the dessert!”
I raise my palms and shake my head with a smile. “Okay, okay, we do it your way. Can I use your bathroom?”
When Saint nods, I head down the corridor without even limping too much. After yesterday’s kneeling my knee should be aching like hell, yet here I am, spared by my faulty body. I can’t help but take a good look at his bed, because a part of me hopes that I might end up resting in those black sheets eventually, but I don’t want to be a creep, and head straight for the bathroom. I’m only washing my hands, so there’s no need to shut the door, but as I grab the hand towel, facing a small drying rack attached to the radiator, my gaze stops on a black item with a white print on one side.
My stomach clenches as I pull it off the drying rack. Deep down, I already know what I’m looking at, but my mind doesn’t want to accept it.