Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Why do you even need it,” Yuki demands as we leave the convenience store.
“I like looking at your pictures—-”
His lip curls in disgust, and I can’t help giggling.
“If you need something to look at,” he growls, “then look at me.”
“Oh, Yuki.” I can’t stop laughing. “You’re so cu—-”
His eyes narrow. “What did you say?”
Oh, shite. I’ve forgotten how much he hates it when I use the word ‘cute’ for anything he does. I clear my throat. Quick, KC. Think of another cu-word. “I said, you’re so—-” Cu...pid? Cu...cumber?
Yuki’s eyes start boring through me. “I’m so what?”
Bloody hell. Why aren’t there any other normal words that rhyme with queue?
Desperate to get his mind off my faux pas, I impulsively point to the sky, exclaiming, “Look! It’s so...blue.”
“Really, senpai?”
“But it’s just a little funny,” I say hopefully. “Right?”
“No,” he answers flatly. “It’s not.” But then his lips twitch just a little, and oh—-
Too, too cute.
But since I know better now than to say the words out loud, I can only give him a quick hug, saying, “I knew it!”
He blinks at me in bemusement as I pull away. “Knew what?”
“You find me funny!”
Yuki chuckles. “And you think that’s a good thing?”
I slip my hand into his, saying feelingly, “It’s the best thing.” And I mean it. Silly as it may seem, being funny is the kind of proof that Hannah’s talking about. Akito-san is the only other person I know who can make Yuki genuinely laugh, and since Yuki loves his dad to pieces...
A girl can hope, right?
I feel like I’m floating as we resume walking, and I ask impulsively, “What do you think about having our study session somewhere else?”
He raises a brow at me. “What do you have in mind?”
Word of the Day: Onsen, n.
1. The Japanese term for hot spring or a resort centered around one.
2. It is rare for an onsen to be of mixed use; a thin divider is usually installed to separate the men’s hot springs from the women’s.
3. Customers are usually discouraged from wearing any kind of clothes or even their underwear when entering an onsen.
Blog #753
I got an actual old-fashioned piece of snail mail today. It’s from my family back home, and it’s several inches thick. Drew kept me updated with family life, Scott talked about his new job, Jason shared an excerpt of the manuscript he’s working on, and Kelly – of all things – gave me the latest info about the upcoming season of Stranger Things. I know I’m an ocean away, but my mom can’t seem to get that Netflix also works in Japan. Our version just has more anime and J-dramas, is all.
Weirdly, none of them writes about Kelly’s newest treatment or how it’s making her feel all kinds of shite and has her throwing up at night. Not even Jason, who’s usually all about facing our fears and placing our faith in God.
Or maybe it’s not that weird. We have been talking about it on FaceTime, anyway, so why rehash it on paper? Maybe it’s a way to cope, to compartmentalize so that there are parts of our lives we can always count on being safe and happy – parts that...if something happens...we can remember and know they’ll always be good.
I wonder if that’s the reason why I don’t tell him at all about my mom. Is it because...if something happens, and we talk about it, he wouldn’t be able to speak of the way Mom is now? Instead, he’d only be able to talk of her the way he remembered her—-
Beautiful.
Alive.
Untouched by fear or pain.
The way she used to be.
Is it selfish and foolish of me to think that way? And does it make me equally foolish and selfish that I sometimes feel I’m doing the same with him? Sometimes, I feel like all we’re doing is chasing the past and trying to make things the way it used to be...
Even though we know it can’t ever be.
Things change. And sometimes, people you want to come back...don’t, and people you don’t want to leave...are people you have to let go.
THREE HOURS, TWO TRAINS, and one private shuttle bus later, and we’re in Kawaguchiko, home to one of the Five Fuji Lakes and some of the country’s most expensive ryoukan. Because these traditional inns tend to offer only a handful of rooms, you usually have to book months in advance just to get a standard suite. Or at least that’s how usually is if you’re not a billionaire’s son.
“This is incredible, Yuki.” I mean every word, but I also know it’s a vast understatement. Our suite looks like it’s something straight out of the Imperial Palace, and Yuki laughs when I nearly trip on my own feet in my haste to leave my flats at the genkan or entryway and explore the rest of the place barefoot. There’s an elegantly designed tokoma in one area, several sitting rooms, and I can’t help gasping when I open the doors of the balcony and see a private outdoor bath. It reminds me of the time Yuki and I had hit the beach when we were still dating, and our villa had its own pool. That time, he had to punish me by—-