Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“It’s for the best,” she said, squeezing my hand.
I wished we weren’t in the car. I wished I could at least pull her into my arms. Feel her hands on my chest one last time.
“At least we switch rotations in a couple of weeks. There’s a chance we can avoid each other.”
My stomach churned at the thought of having to avoid her. I didn’t want to. But she was right, it would be easier if she wasn’t around me all day, demonstrating her good instincts, brilliance, and warmth. “It will take more than just a different department for this to be okay.”
She nodded. “I know.”
I wanted to get out of the car and run somewhere. I wanted to transport myself to Norfolk and fill my lungs with sea air and walk until my legs wouldn’t carry me any further. I wanted to scream at the sea about how unfair this all was.
“Maybe . . .”
She shook her head before I finished my thought, let alone my sentence. “Don’t say maybe there’s a chance things will change or we’ll find a solution. We both know it won’t happen. It will be easier if we just accept the way things are.”
I hated seeing her so steeled. We could figure this out. “I think you’re bright and special and wonderful and—”
She squeezed my hand as if willing me to stop.
“I should go.” She stared at our linked hands but didn’t try to move.
“Look at me,” I said.
Quick as a flash, she withdrew her hands and pressed her palms to my cheeks. “Thank you.” She pressed her lips against mine. Almost before I’d registered it, her warmth had left me, the breeze from her opening the car door hitting me in the chest. All I could do was sit as she got back into her car, reversed, and drove away.
I couldn’t chase after her—this was what she wanted. This was what I wanted.
Wasn’t it?
Thirty-One
Sutton
Chopping onions was therapeutic. That’s what I’d told myself when Parker had assigned me the job. She and Tristan were hosting dinner for her and some of Tristan’s friends. I’d gotten to meet a number of them over the last few months, but hadn’t gotten to chat much with a couple of them. They all seemed lovely. I just could have done with a night in with Parker and a tub of Haagen Dazs. I was dreading telling her about Jacob. I didn’t want to bring it all up in my thoughts again. The last few days, I’d managed to push them down and keep myself busy. As soon as I told Parker, I knew we would discuss nothing else for the rest of the evening.
“How many more?” I asked.
“We need five all together,” Parker said as she busied herself butchering a chicken.
“Five onions is a lot of onions,” I said.
“Tristan has a lot of friends. Well, they’re our friends now,” she said, smiling. “Not that anyone will ever replace you.”
“Better not.”
“Of course not. They’re your friends, too.”
“Is Tristan my boyfriend too?” I smiled at her.
“You already have one of your own.”
I kept my smile in place just long enough to be interrupted by the doorbell.
“That will be Stella. You’ve met her, right?”
I nodded and glanced at the clock over the door. “She’s really early.” It was only five and I thought things were kicking off at seven.
“She’s having the day off work and said she was bored, so I invited her over for pre-game drinks. I hope that’s okay.”
I nodded. The idea of a dinner party with a bunch of couples was my own very special brand of hell, but Parker was my friend and I wasn’t going to not come just because my heart was broken. A wave of regret rose in my stomach and crashed to my knees. Not regret for making the decision to end things but regret that the decision was unavoidable. Regret that Jacob’s boyish optimism hadn’t carried us through as I’d let myself hope that it might. Regret that I’d let myself get a little bit too comfortable—I should have known better. Now I was to face an evening with a bunch of couples when I’d broken up from the only man who I’d ever felt was completely in my corner. The only man who made me feel like I wasn’t dating up, despite him being clever and kind and brilliant and everything I could ever have dreamed up.
Parker burst back into the kitchen. “Stella’s brought champagne. Not that we don’t have enough already.”
“Sorry, I must stink of onions,” I said as I waved.
“Oh, we have to hug, onions or no onions,” Stella said, rounding the kitchen island and pulling me into her arms.
Stella was blonde and beautiful and the kind of woman whose appearance made me reassess my wardrobe choices—effortlessly stylish but not overdone.