Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
He looks so wrecked my resolve to immediately send him away stumbles. It’s not his appearance that tells me he’s having a hard time. By that standard, he’s the perfect man––on the outside, that is. Haircut fresh and styled perfectly. Black button-down shirt under an expensive cashmere coat. No one else would notice the flat, bottomless look in his dark green eyes. It’s the same look he gets when he’s hurting, overwhelmed with emotion he doesn’t know how to process.
“What do you want?” I manage to get out, sounding bored and unaffected––more and more like him every day. And yet, I’m far from either of those two things right now. My hands are shaking and my heart––the one I’ve been carefully piecing back together––shatters again.
Jordan’s face softens, relief coming over him. The tightness around his mouth and jaw clear instantly. “Riley…”
“I’m working.”
He walks around the counter and crams his big body between the boxes of products I need to restock. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
“I can’t. I’m working.”
His green gaze sharpens and goes directly to Veronica who I now notice is holding his black Amex, staring at it with almost diabolical glee in her big brown eyes.
“Charge everything at this counter on my card. I’ll buy it all,” he commands her.
“Done,” is her quick reply. Can’t fault her; she works on commission.
“Veronica, don’t––” My time is worth more than a couple of wands of mascara and a few lipsticks. “I can’t do this, Jordan. You need to leave.”
Seeing him again triggers a wave of memories. Like the look on his face that shitty day a month ago when he told me to leave. The way he made me feel like the lowest form of trash.
I’ve pretty much kept to the same circle of friends I’ve had my entire life. I don’t have many, but they’re real. Maybe it’s because something has always told me not to wander where I don’t belong. After everything I’ve done to build an honest life, a thriving business, to be accused of stealing by the man I thought cared about me––the one person I wanted to be proud of me––was the deepest cut of all.
“Just give me a few minutes and––”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I blurt out, frustration boiling over.
“Yes, there is.” He brushes a strand of hair away from my face.
“You’re going to get me fired, and then I’ll be broke and jobless all over again.” Doing my best not to cry, I push him aside and walk away, heading for the nearest exit with Jordan in hot pursuit.
Outside on the sidewalk, the near freezing temperature takes my breath away, the wind chill cutting straight through me. I’m wearing my mother’s old blouse and skirt I had altered. I’m not exactly dressed for the weather.
“Riley, wait.”
“I’m not doing this anymore, Jordan!” I shout as I walk towards the Paris Theater on 58th Street, out of earshot of the store, or God forbid, my manager.
Grabbing my arm, he wheels me around and hugs me tightly. Then he takes the flaps of his coat wraps them around me. I’m engulfed by his body heat, the familiar smell of his skin, the soap he likes, the feel of his muscles beneath his shirt.
He feels so good I’m in no rush to push him away and I should. I really should. One minute, just one minute, I tell myself, and I’ll send him away.
But instead I burrow deeper, closer. I missed this so much. I missed him. How can you love and hate someone so deeply at the same time? It seems impossible and yet here I am.
“I miss you,” he murmurs next to my ear.
Shivering, I automatically wrap my arms around his waist and rest my face against the side of his neck. He smells like mine. He feels like mine. But he’s not mine. He was on loan for a little while. Long enough for me to play make-believe, and now it’s time to return to reality. I’m not the little girl who believed dragons live under the streets of New York City anymore. I stopped believing in dragons the day my father died. I stopped believing in princes and happily-ever-afters for people like me the day Jordan kicked me out.
“Let’s go inside. You’re going to catch a cold.”
It’s his biggest fear. And it probably always will be. I don’t know if he’ll ever get over the belief that everyone he cares about will get sick and die.
“I’m sorry…I’m sorry about what happened. I want to tell you over and over how sorry I am, but I don’t want to do it out here, standing in the snow.”
My eyes blink open. I tip my head back and snowflakes hit my nose, my mouth, my eyes. Snow hits Jordan’s hair and disappears. He runs his thumb over my bottom lip, slowly leans in. He’s close to kissing me when I remember all of it.