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’m not him,” I say.
“I know,” she says, pulling her eyebrows together. “You’re ten times the man he was.”
“Then trust me.”
She stares at the floor for a beat, then meets my gaze.
“I’m sorry.”
“In twelve months, you’re back in London. Then what? I can swipe right if I find you on an app or ask you out if I happen to bump into you crossing Waterloo Bridge? Or you’re fucking some French twat with bad dress sense and an accent.”
She tilts her head as if to say, you sound like a spoiled teenager, and I know I do. But it seems so fucking pointless. Such a total waste of something that was on track for fucking amazing.
“I should go,” she says and slides off the counter. “Honey garlic chicken’s in the oven. I’m sorry.”
She starts to leave, but I’m not ready to give up. Not yet. I just need time. Time to think. Time with her. Time so she sees who I am and who we can be together. I grab her hand. “I shouldn’t have said all that. I’m just…disappointed. But you said we could be friends, right?”
She turns and narrows her eyes. “Yes.”
“Then stay.” I pull back my shoulders and stand tall. “Let’s eat. Let’s celebrate. You bought champagne, after all.”
If I have to pretend to be just her friend to remain in her life, that’s what I’ll do. And slowly, surely, I’ll make her see that I’m not going to cheat on her. I’m not going to meet anyone else. I’m not going anywhere.
“Is that a good idea?”
“Yes,” I say. “You’ve cooked already. We might as well eat. Even though I’d prefer to end the evening with us both naked, if that’s not on the menu tonight, I’ll settle for honey garlic chicken and a conversation.”
Thirty
Zach
Being at work feels tortuous since finishing the book. Even if I didn’t have offers on it already, or it wasn’t going to auction, I’d still be struggling to get through my shifts because I know there’s something I love to do. And it sure isn’t being here.
I nod at one of my colleagues as they pass me in the corridor. I’m meeting Dad for lunch. We can’t possibly use the hospital cafeteria. There’d be too many people staring and interrupting us. Everyone still wants a piece of the man, the myth, the legend. Dad never liked being the center of attention before he retired. He certainly doesn’t now.
It’s not often that Mum and Dad come to London anymore, even less often that Dad comes on his own. But he called me this morning to tell me he’s got a meeting. That level of vagueness usually means he’s going to 10 Downing Street. Even in his retirement, his opinion is sometimes the only one that matters. The sliding exit doors of the hospital buzz open and I spot Dad in the car park speaking to the head of general surgery.
He sees me and gives me a wave before saying his goodbyes to Giles.
“You look tired,” he says.
I kiss him on the cheek and nod in the direction of Pret. “Let’s grab a sandwich. How come Mum’s not with you?”
He guffaws. “When has your mother ever followed me around like a dog?”
“I know, but you’re both retired now. I thought you might want to come down on the train together.”
“Dear boy, we’ve spent the last forty years grabbing moments together here and there. Trying to bring up five boys and work shifts—we’ve been grateful for every spare second. Since retirement, we see each other all the time. I’m not saying it’s not wonderful—it is. I was very often tempted to give it all up just to spend more time with your mother. But we see plenty of each other. And anyway, she’s been waiting until I’m out of the house for the day so she can lock the dog out and pin together that quilt she’s making for Nathan and Madison.”
“What quilt?” I can’t imagine Nathan compromising his uber design-conscious interior for a homemade quilt.
He shrugs. “No idea. I thought you might know. It seems to be some big project. Anyway, I’m in London. She’s still in Norfolk. I’ll be home for nine. When you boys were little, I swear we’d go weeks without really seeing each other. We were relay childcarers and doctors. I think there was a good five to seven years where I spent far more time with the postman than I did with my wife.”
I laugh. I’m never sure if Dad knows how funny he is.
“How did you know you would survive? Did you ever think that you two wouldn’t make it?”
“We loved each other,” he says. “We knew we wanted to be together. And we knew we wanted to have successful careers. So we did what we had to do.”