Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Zach scratches his scruffy face. I love him clean-shaven or growing a beard. I love him all ways—I love him always.
“I think I did.” He winks.
My face hurts from this grin he brings to it.
“Greasy burgers and fries?” Zach opens the passenger door for me. “Or has London ruined you for shitty American fare?”
I laugh. “Not even close.”
As he pulls away from the curb, I find my gaze glued to him. Superglued. “Why did you sell the house?”
He keeps his eyes on the road and shrugs. “It was time.”
“I thought you loved that house.”
“I loved the life I had in that house, but I’m gone a lot now. It became nothing more than empty rooms that reminded me of what I’d lost. So I sold it in less than a day. And I bought a tiny home.”
I snort. “I’m sure it’s not tiny.”
“No. It’s an actual tiny home. It’s on my parents’ property. When I’m working, my mom uses it as a She Shed to get away from my dad.”
“You bought a tiny home?”
He grins.
“Funny … I thought …” I shift my attention to the street.
“You thought what?”
“I thought you met someone. I thought maybe it was weird for them to be in the same house where Suzie lived with you.”
“My dating life is pathetic on a good day. It’s why I didn’t find a serious relationship until I met Suzanne. She traveled with her job just as much as I did.”
“Your Professor Dumbledore friend would have a similar schedule. What’s her name?”
“Megan.”
“Megan …” I echo.
“What about you? Seeing anyone? A British bloke?” He pulls into the parking lot of the restaurant.
“Not really. Lots of great friends, but that’s about it. I have a male friend taking care of Harry Pawter while I’m here. But he’s gay, so I don’t see that going anywhere.” I open my door and follow Zach into the restaurant with my handbag and the signed divorce papers inside it.
Once we’re seated and place our orders, Zach shifts his drink and silverware to my side of the booth. For a second, I squint at him. “Scooch.” He slides in next to me, resting his hand on my leg.
Leaning over, he whispers in my ear, “I heard all the cool couples sit on the same side of the booth.”
Then he kisses my cheek as I laugh through tears.
So.
Many.
Tears.
My lips quiver as I say, “I signed the papers.” I love him so much. And this hurts so much. It’s just not our time. Not our lifetime.
Leaving his lips hovering between my cheek and my ear, he whispers, “I figured.” His hand gently cups the back of my head, and he pulls me into his chest, letting me sob on his shoulder.
How is it possible to be so happy and so brokenhearted at the same time?
Zach doesn’t ask why I’m crying; he just holds me. After my silent sobs subside, I lean back and wipe my messy face.
“It’s been an honor…” Zach gives me a smile that conveys complete truth and love “…being your husband.”
“Liar.” I sniffle while my salty lips bend into a half smile.
He doesn’t respond; he doesn’t have to. I see it in his eyes. He means it. “So what’s next?”
I finish wiping my eyes and sniffle, fighting to regain a little composure. “Funny you should ask … I’m moving to London with Leah and her mom.”
With wide eyes, Zach's jaw goes slack. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen real shock on his face. “You’re serious?”
I find a real smile because I am excited about the idea of living in London. “Serious. Leah got us both jobs with a magazine. We’ll still be able to travel and keep our blogs going. They’re encouraging it because they’re a travel magazine. So instead of jumping into another fake marriage just to live in London, I’ve officially been hired and sponsored by a UK company.”
Zach frowns. “I hate the term fake marriage.”
I roll my eyes to lighten the mood. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he says as the waiter sets our food in front of us. “But it wasn’t entirely fake … not for me anyway.”
I place my napkin on my lap. “Well, it was … something. Crazy? Impulsive? Overly generous? Life-saving? I’m not sure what to call it, but we can’t call it a real marriage.”
“No?”
Taking a bite of my cheeseburger, I shake my head while chewing it. “I won’t call a marriage real…” I wipe my mouth “…unless there’s a ring involved, words so romantic I want to cry, and a long engagement while my fiancé and I decide if our wedding will be in a gothic cathedral or on an island we rent and invite only a handful of friends and family. Either way, a beautiful white dress will be involved.” I pop a fry into my mouth. “Nothing about my life has been normal or conventional. I’d never slept in a house with a Christmas tree until I met you and Suzie.”