Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“We’re doing shots?” he asked, sounding less than impressed.
“Yes.” I raised my glass. “To us.”
“That’s not funny.”
Oh, yeah. The citrus, salty goodness, and hit of alcohol made everything better. I leaned against the kitchen cupboard with a sigh of relief. Then I remembered the groceries still sitting on the dining table. Ice cream and frozen dinners didn’t do well in the heat.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I said, by way of making conversation.
Lars watched in silence as I started unpacking and putting things away. Then he poured out another two shots of tequila. “I’m still not used to hearing you swear.”
“Your friend didn’t like it. He’d get this little line between his brows every time. But I don’t want to talk about him.” I sighed. “We may never be able to explain this.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
I shrugged and set the loaf of bread on the counter.
He picked up the knife to slice more lime. What was it about his hands that fascinated me so? Those thick calloused fingers and the muscles shifting in his arm as he moved. “I don’t accept that. There’s got to be an explanation. Something that makes sense.”
“Maybe we should talk to a psychic,” I said.
“I ask you to make sense and that’s your reply.”
I laughed. It was mostly not hysterical. Go me.
“Shut up for a minute and drink the tequila,” he said. “Please.”
I did as told. More alcohol was definitely the answer to this conundrum.
The big brooding male carried his beer to the dining room table and took a seat. He slumped his whole heart out. “Your cat is back.”
“Hmm?”
He nodded to the stray sitting in the open front doorway.
I grabbed a bowl and the milk. Then added some small pieces of leftover roast beef to another dish. A fine dinner. While she watched with intensity as I approached, she didn’t run away. She meowed as I set down the dishes.
“You’re welcome.”
Lars brushed his thumb back and forth over the smooth wooden tabletop. “I like fixing things.”
“That makes sense. It’s your job.”
“So I don’t like that this situation is so...”
“Yeah,” I agreed when he didn’t continue. This was a whole world of unwieldy.
“I don’t believe in aliens or ghosts or fairies or any of that shit.”
“Fair enough. It’s not like there’s any conclusive evidence that they exist.”
“Exactly,” he said. “And I wouldn’t betray a friend. That’s how I know it’s not real.”
“What you’re saying makes sense.”
“If you believe all that, then why the hell did you suggest a psychic?” He waved a hand around in an aggrieved fashion. Men. Such delicate creatures. So emotional.
“We’re back to that again?” I asked. “You know, I can support your beliefs without adhering to them. You have your way of thinking about things and I have mine. Guess I’m okay with not having all the answers. With seeking alternative points of view.”
He shook his head.
“How do you do that, frown and smile at the same time?”
“Huh?”
“Your mouth is grumpy, but your eyes are amused.”
He just snorted.
I finished unpacking the groceries. “Aunt Susan always said that life was an adventure.”
Another grunt from him. He really was more animal than man sometimes.
“My point is, you’re still in control of yourself, Lars. You can walk out right now and never see me again. Never talk to me. Have absolutely nothing to do with me for the rest of your life,” I said. “And the universe or fate or whatever will not be able to stop you. That divorce certificate, fake or otherwise, doesn’t get to decide your future. Only you can do that.”
“I thought the whole point of fate was that it was predetermined.”
“Eh. I don’t believe that.”
He raised a brow. “No?”
“There is no fate but what we make.”
“Are you quoting Terminator?”
“I never claimed to be deep, just to have fantastic taste.” I opened the fridge and stared with wonder at the unusually well-stocked shelves. It was the little things in life that made me happy. I put on some music and started swaying. “We need snacks.”
Lars watched, amused. “Can I help?”
“Just sit there and look pretty. You’ve already worked your butt off today. Want another beer?”
“Thanks.”
I passed him a can and thought more deep thoughts about food. As you do after a few drinks. Out of the fridge and pantry came prosciutto, cheese, crackers, those cute little tomatoes, green grapes, and hummus. All of it was then artfully arranged on a pretty old cut glass dish. An excellent charcuterie board. At least, that’s what I told myself. And what better accompaniment than more tequila?
Once everything was on the table, I passed him his shot glass and lime. “We’re making a party of it, huh?” he asked.
“It’s not every day you find out you probably really are divorced.”
“My folks would be so disappointed,” he said, before downing the booze. “They’ve been happily married since the dawn of time.”