Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
I don’t make it more than a few steps because a man I don’t know, carrying a stack of familiar-looking shoeboxes, blocks the hall to the garage door.
“Do you know where these go?” he asks, and I start to open my mouth but snap it shut when Noah comes up behind him, holding an armful of clothes that, again, look familiar.
“Just drop everything in the living room, John.”
“Um…what’s going on?” I ask Noah while another man follows him, his arms lined wrist-to-shoulder with different bags that I know for sure are the ones I left behind when I moved out of the house I shared with Conner. And I know this because when I was in London a couple of years ago, I purchased two Louis Vuitton bags at Hayes and had them both hand-painted with a pretty floral design by an artist in the store.
“The guys got your shit.” Noah drops what’s in his hands over the back of the couch, then turns to face me. “Or most of it.”
“What?” I look from him to the pile on the couch.
“Your ex had already started to light your stuff on fire by the time we showed up,” John explains before patting Noah on the back. “I’m gonna get the rest from the car.”
“Thanks.” Noah lifts his chin, and John heads down the hall, the other guy following him.
“I’m so confused.” I shake my head, trying to wrap my brain around what’s going on.
“I told you I wasn’t going to confront your ex yesterday. I didn’t tell you I wouldn’t send someone else to do it.” He shrugs.
“So you got my stuff?”
“Technically, John and Ed did.”
“I…I can’t… I don’t know what to say.” I watch John and Ed walk back in, carrying more of my things that they each dump onto the couch.
“You don’t need to say anything,” Ed cuts in, and I look at him. “We were told we’d get cookies as payback.”
“Cookies?” I repeat, trying to keep up, which is difficult when I feel like this is some kind of odd dream.
“I told them you’d make them cookies,” Noah says, and I nod. Because what else am I supposed to do?
“What are those?” Ed asks, and I turn to see him pointing at the scones sitting on a wooden cake plate under a glass dome. It’s something I purchased at one of those stores that has everything from name-brand clothes to cookware at discount prices. Seeing it on the counter now, I bite my lip because although it looks good where it is, it’s fancy and totally screams a woman lives here, and this is her domain. Not, this is just something a bachelor uses to store cookies or baked goods in so he doesn’t have to go searching for them in the pantry.
“Scones, and you can’t have any,” Noah tells him, and I snap out of my runaway thoughts.
“Don’t say that!” I gasp, turning his way.
“Baby, there are only three left. If they each take one, there’s only one left for me.”
“I can make more.”
“You gonna make more today?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Then again, I had no idea he would eat half the dozen his mom and I made yesterday.
“Then they can’t have any. They can get the cookies I told them you’d make.”
“You can’t be serious.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him, which causes his friends to laugh.
“Don’t worry. We won’t take your food,” John says and then looks at me. “We’re gonna take off. It was nice meeting you.”
“You too. And thank you for getting all this stuff.”
“Can I get peanut butter chocolate chip cookies?” Ed asks before John can respond.
“Of cour—”
“You’ll get what she makes you,” Noah cuts me off.
“I’ll make both of you whatever kind of cookies you want.” I jab Noah in the side with my elbow, something that hurts me more than it does him.
“Thanks.” Ed gives me a crooked smile.
“I’ll take snickerdoodles,” John requests, and a small laugh escapes from between my lips when Noah glowers at the two men, even as they head down the hall.
When I hear the back door open and shut, I look at the couch and coffee table in the living room, where my things have been piled high. There was a time when having name-brand things made me feel like I was somehow important. Like I belonged. Now, all I see is the money I spent so carelessly in my attempt to find some semblance of happiness and gifts my husband gave me to make me—or maybe himself—feel better about the fact that he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
I didn’t lie when I told Noah that all this stuff is just stuff and that I don’t care about it. Really, I kind of wish his friends had left it to burn. Because now that it’s all here, so are the memories that come with it.