Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
When we sobered, there was a moment of silence, both of us staring at each other, grinning like a pair of fools.
For once, he was the one to speak first. “I wasn’t lying about your hair. You look amazing, Gwen. Head to toe.”
“You too. If more women knew about that shirt, there would probably be a line in your living room.”
Great. Now I was flirting.
With my ex.
More specifically, Truett.
Outstanding.
I cleared my throat and ignored his wolfish grin. “Anyway, come sit down. Sorry about the mess. I left you a path to the booth.”
He glanced around at the floor’s half-completed state. From the center of the room, smoky porcelain tiles spread outward, giving way to bare, gray concrete closer to the walls. Tools lay scattered, and little spacers stuck up from between tiles like a garden of plus signs.
“You did all this?” he asked, a hint of pride in his voice.
“Yep. A few friends came by earlier and helped me lay out the pattern, but they had to get their kids from school. So it’s just been me for the last few hours.”
“What’s all that?”
I didn’t have to follow his gaze to know what he was asking about. In the mouth of the hallway, beside my rented power tool, was a small mountain containing at least $200 worth of rubble.
A wry smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Most people cut tile the boring way, but you know I like a challenge, so I made it into a game called ‘How Many Tiles Can I Break While Learning to Work a Water Saw.’”
He did a slow blink. “Wow. New game and you’ve already mastered it. Any chance you’re planning to do a mosaic?”
“I wasn’t, but a few more boxes of tile and that might be my only option.”
“You want some help?”
“And risk ruining your date clothes? No, thanks. Besides, I’ve made it this far. Might as well see it through. You go sit down and do your thing. If you’re still here when I finish cutting, you can watch me play ‘Bankruptcy Tetris’, where I try to make all the pieces fit.”
“Just remember, measure twice and cut once.”
I batted my lashes. “Thanks, but I’m currently using the far superior ‘measure twelve times and cut twenty-four’ method. It’s a trade secret amongst professionals like myself.”
He laughed again and I honest-to-God couldn’t remember the last time he seemed so…unburdened. Seeing him happy mended holes in my heart that I hadn’t realized still existed. It was like sand pouring over a bed of rocks, the grains seeping into the empty spaces, filling a hidden void. Nostalgia curled around me, bittersweet and tender, bringing back memories of when things were simpler and we were both carefree. I hadn’t been able to admit it to myself in years—self-preservation and all—but I missed that version of Truett. Achingly so.
“I have a little something for you,” I announced, turning toward the kitchen.
“For me?” he asked, his voice full of surprise.
“Yep. Go sit. Be careful not to trample my plus signs.”
“Plus signs, right. Gotcha,” he muttered as we both navigated the narrow strip of concrete in opposite directions.
When I returned less than a minute later, he was in his booth, peering down at the table. His head popped up when he heard my approach. A smile still graced his handsome face, but it disappeared as I placed the plate in front of him.
“Order up.”
“What is that?” he asked, leaning away like he feared it might suddenly sprout legs and launch at his jugular.
“A club sandwich, no mayo, bacon on the side. That’s what you order, right?”
“Yeah, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head.
I didn’t understand what that sandwich meant to him any more than I did the booth.
I wanted to though. I’d always wanted to understand him.
Unfortunately, Truett had locked himself in his own mind long before he’d locked himself in that house. I wasn’t delusional enough to think cold cuts and dry bread held a magical key to free him.
He looked up at me, conflict etched into his face. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“No, but it’s part of your routine, and I’m about to subject you to an hour of me cussing while intermittently blasting your eardrums with a saw. It was the least I could do.”
He shook his head again, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. God, what I wouldn’t have given to spend five minutes inside that man’s head—to find the dam blocking his ability to express himself and level it with a sledgehammer, freeing him from his self-made prison once and for all.
Some battles weren’t mine to fight though. I’d learned that the hard way.
I rapped my knuckled on the table. “Stay as long as you’d like. I need to—”
“Will you sit with me?”
My heart stopped, the flutter in my stomach stealing my breath.