Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I turn my head to look at him and he’s surveying the countertops, looking at the food I’m about to dish onto our plates.
“This looks incredible and smells better,” he says.
“Ossobuco,” I explain.
“Can I do anything?”
A simple question shouldn’t fill me with such a deep thrill. But I know I could ask him to do anything and he’d be happy to help. Even though I don’t need any help, it’s just nice to be with someone, sharing a meal with a man, who offers it willingly and means what he says.
“I have it handled.”
“Of course you do,” he replies. The thrill that’s gathered in my chest grows and spreads along my limbs. More contrast to Shane: he thinks I’m capable.
“Did you make the progress you wanted to today?”
He pulls in a slow breath and lifts his arms, stretching out his body from being cramped behind his computer all day. I have to turn around because the sight of him is almost overwhelming. “It’s difficult to say. I think so. I’m just making tiny changes, a look here, a note of his appreciation of her there. He’s been closed off for a long time and he’s gradually reawakening.”
“So you don’t want to be too heavy-handed.” I place our full plates on the table and he grabs the bottle of Barolo and the corkscrew and comes to the table.
“Exactly,” he says, removing the foil from the wine bottle. “It’s about being realistic. These people are professionals. They’re not batting their eyelashes at each other over a corpse.”
He pours the wine, I get the red cabbage, and we both sit.
“Bon app,” he says, stealing my phrase and lifting his glass before resuming his thoughts on his characters. “It’s about balance. More than anything, I’ve added more of Madeline on the page. I figure, if he likes her—even if he doesn’t realize it—he’s going to be drawn to her. He’s going to make up reasons to be near her.”
“I can see that.” I can’t really comment. The only thing I can take away from my time in a ten-year relationship with Shane is that I’m not sure I know what a man in love looks like. “And Mrs. Fletcher’s comments are still useful?”
He nods. “This is so good,” he says on a groan after his first mouthful of stew.
I pause to watch him enjoy my food.
“Did you learn how to make this at home?” he asks.
“Ossobuco?” I ask, a little confused. When he nods I try not to spit out my wine. “No, my parents aren’t big cooks. Dad likes to barbecue twice a year and Mum’s a spag bol kind of gal.”
“You see them much?”
Regret dives in my stomach. “A little more now.” Shane never wanted to visit.
“Now meaning since…”
“Since I broke up with Shane.” I take a slug of wine, quickly followed by a mouthful of dinner so I don’t have to say anything else.
“They didn’t like him?”
“The feeling was mutual. I abandoned university to manage him and they didn’t like that decision. He resented their resentment. He said they never thought he was good enough.”
“Was he?” His eyes are on me, dark and serious, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
I shrug. “No one is ever good enough for their daughter, right? It was my decision to leave university, not his. He just suggested it and it made sense. Plus, it meant we got to spend more time together. I could make sure things were done correctly; opportunities weren’t missed.”
“And you never wanted anything for yourself?”
“It was for me, too. In the beginning anyway. Practical experience in talent management sounded exciting. It could have been a stepping stone to me being some kind of agent or at least an HR professional or something. I enjoyed it at first. I was happy for a time and then…I spent a lot of time trying to make it how it was, trying to convince myself that things would be okay if only…you know.”
“Was there a turning point when you realized you weren’t happy?”
His question hits me like an exorcism. I haven’t realized it until right this second, but yes. “A few years in, we were arguing a lot. He seemed to be less and less happy with the things I was doing and the opportunities he was getting. I would try and explain that the appetite for anything Speedway-related was waning, but he didn’t want to hear it. It was easier to blame me. I definitely considered going back to university then but…it seemed too difficult.” I twist my fork around and around my plate, moving my food from point to point. “By then, my relationship with my parents was strained, so I couldn’t ask them for financial support. The thought of getting into debt at that stage of my life was overwhelming. I didn’t get paid a salary—we just shared Shane’s income. There was no way I could have asked him to pay for it.” I exhale as I remember—that’s when I’d started putting money away in a savings account. Small amounts every month. “Challenging the status quo seemed like an insurmountable obstacle.”