Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
He grunts. “I bet I can guess which sleepover night that was. Probably the one when she was a nightmare the next day. My daughter is a cranky little girl when she doesn’t get at least eight hours of sleep.”
I bare my teeth in a “mea culpa” grin. “Sorry. We were watching Enchanted and we couldn’t stop before the happily ever after. Sprout told me stopping before the happily ever after is a proven formula for nightmares, and I couldn’t give one of my favorite people nightmares. I’m not a monster.”
The light in his eyes dims, and I instantly know I’ve said the wrong thing. “You’re one of her favorites, too.”
My shoulders creep toward my ears as the tension in the air builds, both of us clearly thinking of how hard this is going to be for the little girl we both love so much. “Listen, Seven, we don’t have to—”
“Maybe we can figure something out,” he cuts in. “A way for you two to stay close even if we…”
I press my lips together as my throat goes tight. He said “if we,” but his face is saying “when we.”
When we no longer see each other anymore…
Because he’s still determined for this to end Friday morning. He doesn’t seem to be second-guessing that decision at all, and that…hurts.
It really fucking hurts.
It hurts so badly that I can barely force myself to nod and mutter, “Yeah, sure, we’ll figure it out,” before hurling myself through the door into the cabin.
Once inside, I don’t go to the kitchen to grab the buns and salad; I head for the bathroom and close the door, leaning back against it as I press my hands to my face. I pull in deep breaths, willing myself not to cry. I can’t fall apart right now or Seven will bail on our “fuck each other’s brains out for three days” plan before we’ve even made it all the way through day two.
He won’t stay the course if he knows how badly this is hurting me, and I can’t give him an excuse to push me away. Fighting for him—for us—will be a hell of a lot harder if he’s sleeping on the couch and working on the cabinets all day tomorrow instead of spending time with me.
“Right, keep your eye on the ball, Binx,” I say, dropping my hands to my sides and giving my reflection a hard look in the mirror. With my cheeks sun-kissed from the days outside and my lips puffy from kissing Seven an absurd number of times today, I look like a well-loved woman having the staycation of her life.
I can be that woman for another day. And then, come tomorrow night, if Seven and I are falling asleep, and he’s still determined to say “so long” in the morning, maybe I’ll let myself ugly cry on his chest and beg him to give us a chance.
I’m not above an ugly cry. Not even close.
I have no shame when it comes to Seven, which should probably bother me. I’m not the kind of woman who begs for a man’s attention. I’m the kind who flips a man the bird and tells him to get fucked if he can’t see that I’m something special.
But it’s different with Seven. I know he thinks I’m special. It’s himself that he has doubts about.
“You’re going to get through to him,” I tell my reflection. I stand up a little straighter, rolling my shoulders back. “He’s stubborn, but he’s met his match this time.”
My jaw relaxes and the tension in my chest eases—because I believe it. He has met his match, in every way, and I’m going to make sure he realizes that by Friday morning. Look how far we’ve come in less than forty-eight hours. There’s still time to turn this around.
Comforted by my pep talk, I head out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, arriving in time to watch a familiar car pull up the drive through the window above the sink.
Instantly, my stomach bottoms out and my heart starts beating a mile a minute.
“No,” I mutter, my hands balling into fists on the counter. “No, no, no!”
I bolt for the door, planning to tell the driver to turn the hell around and leave—now! I’m fine, I’m safe, and the last thing I want is to be “rescued” from my current situation.
But by the time I reach the front of the cabin, my mother has already cut the engine and is glaring at me through the windshield of her white Kia Sorento, a mortified-looking Wendy Ann cringing in the passenger’s seat beside her.
Chapter 18
SEVEN
Ihear the sound of wheels on the gravel road leading up to the camp and a wave of despair hits me like a tsunami hitting shore.
No.
I’m not ready for this to be over.