Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
She turns her back on me and sighs. She goes to shut the door, but then she does a one-eighty and pulls it open again. “Ugh. I just…I should send you packing. I really should. You have no idea what I’ve gone through. I have zero reason to trust or hope. I’ve had a bad freaking week at work. Ever since I got home, I’ve been thinking and wishing I made a different decision, but this isn’t a fantasy. This is reality. This is who we are and who I am, and part of being me is being dependable and hardworking and staying in one spot so no one else ever feels like I abandoned them.”
I don’t know what Echo has been through. She’s right about that. Do I want to know? I do, but only because I’d like to ask what I could do to help her get through it. I’d like to help her change her mind, chase away whatever she’s afraid of, and mend the rents and tears someone did to her heart. I’d like to find the bastard and rend them limb from limb, but I don’t think it was a guy, and I don’t think it was that kind of relationship. It was something else. Something far worse than a breakup.
“You wouldn’t abandon anyone. If you came with us, it’s not something you have to choose between—this life or another life. It’s an adventure, and you can still check in with them. You’re not leaving anyone for good. If there are people you love here—”
“I have friends.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than she’s trying to convince me. “I have Mrs. J—” She starts to say the name but stops as the door to the apartment next door rattles open.
An elderly lady with a head of snowy white downy-looking curls peeks out. She spots me, gives me the frown to end all frowns, and opens the door a hair wider. When she steps out, I can see that she’s tiny—way smaller than Granny. She’s petite, and she’s also a little stooped in the shoulders. But it doesn’t stop her from giving me a look that promises a good ass kicking if I’m up to no good out here.
“Mrs. Johnson,” Echo breathes. She mouths something at me and ducks behind her door. As I can only see Echo’s face, I don’t think Mrs. Johnson can see any of her.
“Who the heck are you?” Mrs. Johnson demands, her eyes narrowing to inspect me. “And why in the tarnation are you bothering Echo?”
“Whoa. I’m not…I’m not bothering her, I promise.” From the crack in the door, I can see Echo shaking her head madly. She’s mouthing something that looks a lot like don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t you dare say it. I glance back at the elderly neighbor. She smells like cinnamon, vanilla, and cookies. She gives me major Granny vibes, so much so that I’m suddenly homesick, even though I just left. “I’m her husband.”
Echo groans. “Why,” she hisses under her breath. Thanks a lot, she mouths.
“Oh! Oh shit. I mean, shoot. I mean hootsay. That’s pig Latin, by the way. I didn’t realize I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
Echo rips the door open and steps into the hallway. She has her arms crossed like she’s cold, but I know she’s steaming mad, and honestly, I didn’t realize that was the bit I wasn’t supposed to say. I thought it was the whole bit about the hacking and stuff, but I guess that’s the obvious thing not to mention.
“Yes, this is my husband. My soon-to-be ex-husband,” Echo informs her neighbor. “It was a drunk Vegas wedding that was a huge mistake. We’re not actually dating or actually married. Well, I mean, technically, we are. Married, I mean. But I’m fixing that. He’s here to sign the papers.”
“Wowwee!” Mrs. Johnson hoots, just like Granny would. “That’s a tale I’d like to hear. If you’re going for sushi, which I kind of overheard that you are—no, I’m not sorry I eavesdropped—I wouldn’t say no. I was trying to keep an eye out for Echo because she needs protecting, and you could have been anyone, including some creeper dude set on making trouble. In which case, I was going to grab the wooden spoon off the kitchen counter and offer to tan your backside if you didn’t scram. Are you a creeper?”
“I’m her husband!”
“You can be her husband and still be a creeper.”
“He’s not my husband!” Echo snorts. “I mean, he might be, but not like a real husband. Okay, this has gone far enough. We’re not going for sushi, and we’re not having any further discussions about this. He’s just…he’s signing the papers, that’s it.”
Mrs. Johnson winks at me discreetly, then her face falls. “That’s too bad. I figured some wasabi and ginger would spice up this old gal’s life. I can’t remember the last time I went for sushi. Actually, I can’t remember the last time I went for dinner anywhere. It would have been a nice change. But if you’re not going, I don’t want to—”