Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
She’s got a point. Maybe I can squeeze in an appointment with my GP and see if they recommend anything special. “Fine. I will, but promise you’ll cut me some slack.”
“Not too much, or you’ll hang yourself with it.” She points a finger at me like she’s all-knowing and wise. It’s usually me in that spot as the technically older twin by twenty minutes.
I roll my eyes and point to the coffee maker that’s still not brewing. “Enough. Where’s my coffee, woman?”
“Hold your horses. You’ve distracted me. Now I have to re-measure.”
“I’ll get started on some breakfast.” I jump off my stool and turn on the griddle to let it heat up.
That brings a smile to her face. “Sounds good to me.”
“Did you speak to our parents?” I ask while digging the milk and eggs out of the fridge for some French toast.
She nods, pulling out the cups. We have way too many cups because she collects them. Although it’s not a hobby for me, she does have some cute ones. “Yes. They want us to come down and visit. I told them that it’s possible for me, but I don’t have any idea when you will be available.”
“Um…I really don’t know if it’s possible.” I go on to explain last night to her and she plops back on her seat with her mouth open.
“Girl, I can’t believe it. Tell me…was it as amazing as I imagined?”
“Way better.” I sigh with a huge smile, thinking about kissing him again and so much more.
“Then I’ll think about going to see our parents alone.”
“But the ticket will be expensive.”
“Business expense. I have a client in Florida that I have to meet.” She winks.
I whip the eggs and milk, add some cinnamon, and then dip the bread before tossing it on the griddle. “Do you have any clients down there?”
“Actually, I do. Maybe I can make an excuse for a one-on-one.”
The French toast is done about the same time as the coffee. So we sit down with our delicious breakfast and hot coffee and dig in at the kitchen table because we don’t have a dining room.
“You forgot the syrup,” she gripes. Just then, my phone buzzes with a text. “You know the rules. No phones while eating.”
“It might be important.” Given how I’m feeling, I know it is.
“Fine.”
I pull it out of my pocket, and it’s from Andre. “It’s from my sous chef.” I read the words and can’t comprehend them. My phone crashes to the floor, and my heart crumbles.
“Franco,” I whisper. Anabelle scoops up my phone and reads the message. Your boyfriend has been in an accident. It’s all over the news.
“Wow. Oh my God. Are you okay?”
I hear her, but my brain can’t handle the truth of his words. “I’m not sure,” I cry, tears streaming down my face.
Anabelle wraps me up in her arms and hugs me until I’m too tired to stand. “Poor Fabio.”
I turn on the news and see it everywhere. “Helicopter crash kills several. One survivor has been airlifted to the nearest medical center, condition unknown. The helicopter had been carrying four passengers, but that’s all the information we have so far as families have yet to be notified and the manifest has not been made public yet.”
“I can’t.” I run into my bedroom and slam the door shut, needing to breathe into my pillow and pray that he’s the survivor, as selfish as that sounds. I’d felt it in my gut earlier, waking me from my sleep as if I’d known it.
It’s dark when Anabelle creeps into my room. Sitting on my bed, she says, “He’s the survivor.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, letting sleep take me.
****
It’s been a week—seven brutal days. I’ve managed to compose myself, not letting anyone see that I’d been more upset than I had the right to be. My grief and suffering was mine to cope with. After all, we’d only met once and he could have only wanted one date. I shouldn’t care about him so intensely, but I can’t shove these feelings away.
I stand outside his hospital room, wanting to go in and check on him, but he’s still out of it and I’m a big chicken shit. I drove all the way up here on my day off to see how he’s doing, and yet I can’t muster the courage to go in and see him. I find myself coming up with reasons I should leave.
It’s foolish to even be here because we don’t really know each other at all. One brief encounter, and nothing more. I stand outside for a few minutes, and then I hear a voice behind me calling my name. “Isabelle, what are you doing here?”
“Hi, Fabio. I just wanted to check in on your brother,” I spit out, blushing furiously. This is how he spent Christmas. I ended up staying home, and Anabelle hugged me while I cried and then we video chatted with our parents, but I excused myself after a couple of minutes. Of course they asked why, and Anabelle gave them a brief, partial lie so they wouldn’t worry too much.