Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“You should include that in your next performance,” I tell her when I catch her humming in the kitchen one Saturday morning. “I like that melody. Very evocative.”
She grins up at me. “Really? It’s something I just composed. Still need to come up with the words for it.”
“You will.” I drop a kiss on her smooth forehead. “You always do.”
Her music is evolving, just like our relationship. She’s more confident in her choices, and it shows in the band’s performances, which now consist of original material composed by her—and draw increasingly larger crowds. A month ago, Simon created a YouTube channel for their band, and it’s already at fifty thousand subscribers.
“It’s only a matter of time before we go really big,” Rory tells us giddily after a sizable outdoor venue completely sells out for their Friday night concert. “We’re on the verge of breaking out, I just know it.”
Phil and Simon are just as excited, wanting to go out to celebrate, but Sara refuses, claiming that she’s tired. Concerned, I immediately take her home, so I can tuck her into bed in case she’s getting sick.
“I’m fine, really,” she tells me in exasperation when I physically pick her up to carry her from the car to the house. “I’m tired, but I can walk. Seriously, it’s just been a long week.”
Ignoring her protests, I carry her into the house, not setting her down until I get to our bathroom upstairs. Once there, I draw her a hot bath and make sure she’s comfortably settled in before I go to the kitchen to make her some echinacea tea.
When I return with the tea, she’s already nodding off in the tub, looking so adorably sleepy that I put her in bed as soon as I towel her off, ignoring the predictable hunger that having her naked in my arms generates.
I need to take care of her right now, not fuck her.
She falls asleep immediately, without so much as a sip of the tea, even though it’s only ten p.m. and we don’t normally go to bed until eleven at the earliest. I feel her forehead to make sure she’s not running a fever, then grab my laptop and settle in a lounge chair by the bed, figuring I’ll do some work as I keep an eye on her. There’s a surprising amount of paperwork that goes along with running a legitimate business like my training studio and generally managing a fortune.
I’m glad about that. Not the paperwork—nobody likes that—but that I’m able to keep busy. Training civilians in the basics of self-defense is a far cry from the adrenaline-fueled missions of my past, but it helps occupy my days and takes the edge off my constant longing for Sara. Though her bosses are now back, she still works too much, and it takes all my willpower not to pressure her to cut back and spend more time with me.
As is, outside of work, we do everything together, from running errands to volunteering at the women’s clinic to hanging out with her family and friends. Whenever she has an appointment cancellation, she drops by my training studio to practice some of the self-defense moves I’ve taught her, and I often swing by her office around lunch, in case she has time to grab a bite with me. I’ve even scheduled our dental cleanings to take place at the same dentist’s office at the same time, so we can be together for the drive.
It may seem like too much to most people, but it’s barely enough for me.
After an hour, I check on Sara. Still no fever, and she’s sleeping peacefully, if a bit too deeply. Maybe she is just tired.
Yawning, I put my laptop away and take a quick shower before getting into bed as well. Pulling her to me, I inhale deeply, drawing in her sweet scent, and then I let myself drift off, reveling in the feel of her in my embrace.
23
Sara
I’m still strangely tired when I wake up the next morning, and the breakfast smells wafting from the kitchen downstairs make me nauseated instead of awakening my appetite as usual. Bleary-eyed, I stumble to the bathroom, and as I’m brushing my teeth, it dawns on me that today is Saturday.
As in, four days after my period was due to start.
The surge of adrenaline chases away all remaining grogginess. Heart racing, I rush back to the bedroom and pull out my phone, frantically counting the days on the calendar to make sure I didn’t make a mistake.
Nope.
I’m definitely late, and this time, I can’t blame it on stress.
I’ve stocked up on home pregnancy tests since our discussion about children, so I rush back to the bathroom to take one. Except I’ve already peed, and I can’t squeeze out so much as a drop of urine.