Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
"Next time, I'll lower the temperature."
"It could be the brew time."
He nods a yes. Holds up the plate of scones would you like one?
I'm tempted to say no, to see if he'll offer one anyway, but my body answers for me. My stomach growls.
He half-smiles as he places a scone on my plate.
"Thank you." I use my assistant voice.
He frowns but he says nothing about it. Just watches me cut my scone and cover it in raspberry jelly.
Mmm. It is perfect with the tea. The sweetness of the jam and the richness of the scone bring out the notes of honey in the tea. I let out a groan as I swallow.
"Good?"
"Yes, thank you."
His frown deepens. "Don't do that.”
"Do what?"
"Use that voice."
"Which voice is that?" I stay as even as possible.
"That one. Like you're an assistant dealing with a difficult boss."
"How would you describe this arrangement?"
He frowns.
"I'm here. If you want me to be happy about it—"
"If you don't want to be here, your room is that way." He motions to the hallway, as if his offer is some kind of generosity.
"Is that supposed to win my favor?"
"No." He takes a long sip of tea. Rests his hand on the table. "I only mean that you aren't required to sit here with me."
"What if I'd like to sit here on my own?"
"You can ask me to leave."
"Really?"
"Yes." His voice shifts from an even tone to a shaky one. "Though I would prefer if you didn't."
"Oh?"
"I enjoy your company."
The surprise registers in my stomach. That's it? He enjoys my company? I don't expect this kind of sincerity from Shep. "Oh."
"I guess I don't have to ask if that's news." His eyes drift to my lips. He watches as I take another sip of my tea. "I know you don't think well of me."
"Yes." That's one way to put it.
"I won't ask you to forgive me."
"I won't." Maybe if he apologized. If he got on his knees and begged. Dad says forgiveness is good for the soul. That holding onto resentment, frustration, anger only hurts the person who's angry. But Dad never dealt with Shepard Marlowe.
He nods I know. "I won't try to erase the past. But I will ask you to give this a chance."
"You buying my time?"
"Yes. I'm going to try to make it as comfortable for you as possible."
"You won't even tell me why."
His gaze shifts to the window to our right. The bright afternoon light. The sun shining on the Hudson. "I wish things were different, but they aren't. Now. We need to talk about tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Your father. We're visiting the hospital in"—he checks his watch—"an hour and a half."
I swallow hard.
"What are we going to say to him? How are we going to convince him this is real?"
Chapter Nine
Shepard
Her dark eyes fill with surprise. She holds my gaze for a moment, then she looks down at her tea. Stares into the liquid like it has all the answers to the universe.
"I understand it's uncomfortable." I take another sip. Let the drink warm my lips and throat. It's not the same as bourbon, but with her here, it's comforting in a different way.
This is Jasmine. A quiet afternoon with a fresh pot of tea and heartfelt conversation. We spent a million lazy Sundays like this.
Sundays were easy. My mother and stepfather went into the city for brunch and gallery showings. It was the only day I could relax. The only day that was easy.
And now I'm thinking about that bastard. Because she's here. Because all those bright memories of her are surrounded by an ocean of darkness.
It's not too late to call this off. Pay her the money I've promised and send her on her way.
My stomach twists.
My heart refuses. I'm not sure how that's possible—since it's been MIA for years—but it is.
"I am sorry. About your father." That weight on my chest grows. It was awful, watching my mother fall ill. Watching her lose her spark. By the time she died, she was so frail she could barely hold her fork. She could barely smile.
If she'd known the truth—
I'm glad she died believing someone would take care of me. I'm glad she died happy. If I can offer Jasmine the same comfort—
She doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't want to face the possibility of her father dying.
I understand that.
I don't want her to experience that pain. If there was anything I could do, I'd do it. But there's not. This is out of my hands.
"Thank you." Her voice drips with hurt. Her expression stays calm. All that emotion, whirling beneath the surface.
Her poker face is perfect. It's hard to believe.
Yes, she was a talented actress when we were in school. Especially for her age. But she wore everything all over her face. In theater and in life.
I guess things have changed.