Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
We stand in the marble-floored foyer staring at each other. I break the silence when I shake the keys in my hand. “I’ll go.”
Cleta steps around me to open the large wooden door. “Goodbye, Afton.”
As I turn to leave, my gaze catches on the foyer table and the trio of framed photographs that were there. I stare at the spot where my high school graduation picture has been for the past eight years.
Now, it’s gone. All that’s there is an empty spot.
It’s a reminder of everything I’ve lost.
Chapter 17
Afton
Luke’s apartment looks exactly as it did a few days ago. The only difference is that there is a laptop on the coffee table and the whiskey bottle is nowhere in sight.
I debated whether or not to come here when I left my parents’ home, but I didn’t want to be alone. I’ll talk to my brother and Joel tomorrow. Tonight, I need an escape.
I blew up my life in a way I haven’t before. My parents have been disappointed in me in the past, but they’ve never cut me out of their lives.
“Do you want to sit?” Luke gestures to the couch as he slams the cover of the laptop shut. “Let me guess…you’d like a glass of water?”
Nodding, I smooth my hands over the skirt of my dress. “Water would be great.”
“I also have lemonade,” he says before taking a step toward the kitchen. “There’s a can of soda in the fridge too.”
I scan him from head-to-toe, taking in how he looks in dark jeans and a green sweater. He hasn’t shaved, so the scruff on his jaw is thicker. It gives him an unkempt look that I like.
“You’re putting a hell of a lot of thought into this, Afton.” He flashes his perfectly straight white teeth as he smiles. “I’m going to complicate this by telling you a little secret about me.”
My heart flutters inside my chest because I have no idea what he’s about to share with me.
“What secret?” I ask softly.
“I make a fantastic cup of coffee.” His arms cross his broad chest. “I’m talking the best in the firehouse. I can whip you up a hot one or an iced one.”
“Iced coffee sounds like heaven right now.”
“Let me guess…” he begins as he looks me up and down. “You add a spoon of sugar and some cream.”
I smile. “How did you know?”
He tilts his head. “Kismet.”
“Kismet?”
Nodding, he flashes me another wide-mouthed smile. “Fate decided we needed to be friends. I figured that since you’re a fan of lasagna and mint chocolate chip ice cream, that there was a good chance you’d take your coffee the same way I take mine.”
“Are we friends?”
I regret the question as soon as it leaves my lips. I’m not sure how I’d define what’s happening between us. We’re more than acquaintances, but this isn’t a friendship, is it?
“I think we’re friends,” he states boldly. “I helped you out of a tricky situation. You’re going to teach me how to cook that pasta dish you made the other night so I can impress Marti.”
I laugh. “Am I?”
He shoves a hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “I watched the Rise and Shine clip of the recipe’s creator, but what she prepared on camera didn’t look nearly as good as what I ate at your place.”
Smiling, I bow my head. I have to agree. I watched the segment too and noticed that she forgot to add an integral ingredient. I’m not surprised. I’ve never been on national television. I can’t begin to imagine the pressure she was under.
“When you have a free night, you’re more than welcome to come over and I can show you how to make it,” I say without giving it any thought.
“I’ll look forward to that.” He tilts his chin toward the kitchen. “I’ll get started on the coffee. Make yourself at home, Afton.”
I offer him a smile. “Thanks, Luke.”
Watching him walk away, I have to wonder if maybe he’s right. Maybe we are friends.
***
Our small talk through dinner was mostly centered on the food. Luke’s grandmother can cook. I have no idea if her skills were crafted in culinary school, but I’d bet money that she learned how to make the perfect pasta and the best tasting red sauce by watching her mother do it.
My mom’s not a wizard in the kitchen.
As soon as I expressed an interest in cooking when I was twelve, Cleta handed me an apron and put me to work.
She taught me the basics, and I’ve built on that since then.
I listen intently as Luke finishes up with the dishes in the kitchen. I offered to help, but he shooed me away with a swat of his hand in the air and a laugh. He told me that the kitchen was too small for both of us. He’s right. It’s a tight fit.