Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“It’s a special occasion,” I say. “The day my girl tattooed me. The day I learned she shares my hopes and dreams for the future.”
She reaches across the table, slipping her hand past the flowers in the glass vase. When a waiter walks nearby, she quickly snatches her hand away, sighing.
“I wish we didn’t have to sneak around so much.”
“Me too. Hopefully, one day soon, we won’t.”
“Soon,” she repeats. “That’s if…”
“Hey, let’s enjoy the date, okay? All the rest might be terrible, or it might be great. We don’t know right now.”
“You’re right. That’s very wise.”
“That’s because I’m an old man,” I joke.
“Nope, I won’t laugh at that because it’s not true. You might be older than me, but you’re not old. You’re fitter than most men I’ve ever seen. You’ve got this shine in your eyes, Brian, that makes you look youthful, and anyway, I don’t want young. I want experienced and mature. I want you.”
“And I want young, inexperienced… a woman who will be mine, just mine, forever. A woman who’s young enough to give me as many children as I can give her.”
“Hmm.” She taps her chin. “I’ll have to think of somebody who fits the description.”
“Make sure she’s beautiful, funny, unique, talented, perfect, all while not knowing she’s all these things. All while not knowing how special she is.”
“You’re making it really hard not to hold your hand.”
“It’s a challenge, huh?” I say, nodding. “It’s even more of a challenge not to flip the table and pull you into my lap. Goddamn, you’re…”
I trail off when the waiter approaches.
Evie gives me a look, silently referencing the money thing again.
“Was my order okay?” she asks once the waiter is gone.
“Stop worrying about money, Evie,” I say. “With me, you never have to worry about it again. You can work if you want, but if you choose to be a stay-at-home mom, that would be fine too.”
“I’d want to contribute,” she says quietly, “and if we’re going to be a partnership…”
“We already are a partnership.”
“Touché.” She grins. “I should be allowed to worry about money.”
“You’re dangerously close to forcing me to brag,” I say, laughing.
“Brag away.”
If this came from any other woman, I’d sense gold-digger tendencies, but with Evie, I know I never have to question her motives. It’s not anything she’s said or done. It’s being close to her, fate, destiny, and energy. This is all silly stuff, or it would’ve been before I saw my Evie.
“Okay.” I lean forward. “Let me tell you why you don’t have to worry about money.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Evie
“I was dirt poor as a kid,” Brian says.
His voice has a hint of shame as he says this, as though part of him will permanently be stsained by it. I listen without saying anything, just nodding so he knows I’m paying attention. This is one of the best parts about the crush becoming something else, something more genuine. I get to peer behind the surface, the image of him that existed when I was a kid, and I didn’t know much about him.
“I guess that’s why I always hated spending money,” he says. “I used to have nightmares about being homeless. That’s why the Corp worked so well for me. I always had a home, a place to belong.”
“And you always will have a place to belong,” I tell him.
His smile is like a gift just for me. “So will you.”
“Sorry. I interrupted.”
“I could never be mad at that kind of interruption.” He grins, then the lightness fades from him. “I spent hardly any money when I was in the Marines. I didn’t even have a home. On leave, I’d rent hotel rooms or stay onsite. I was so paranoid about being poor that I hired a financial advisor, a former Marine who I trusted.”
“And?” I ask.
His voice getting lower and quieter makes me think the worst happened. Maybe this is a story of financial ruin.
“What if I said I’d lost it all?” he says.
“It wouldn’t matter to me,” I tell him. “I know people say that all the time. Money doesn’t matter, but I swear, if you had nothing, I’d see it as a chance for us to build a life together. I’d work and do whatever it took.”
“You mean it, don’t you?”
“Definitely. Whenever I dreamed about you, and now I know it’s real, it’s never been about money. It’s just you, Brian. You’re my own personal Marine.”
Again, he raises his hand, and again, he drops it. We constantly want to maintain physical contact, knowing we can’t and must somehow fight the almost overwhelming urge to be together.
“It went well,” he says. “The advisor was—is—a good man. He helped me to invest in commercial properties. I barely had to do anything except save more money and not spend much, which I was good at. I’d been doing it all my life. That was around fifteen years ago, and the investments have continued improving.”