Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
She runs light fingers over Ben’s grinning face. “In the old days, Ben never would have passed up a chance to eat one of my meals, but he cancelled family dinners last month.”
“He’s an idiot.”
“No, he’s not.” She turns another page, her eyes shining brighter as she reveals a sunset shot of her and Ben kissing in a vineyard. “He’s a really good dad and a great friend and a fabulous husband. He and Radcliffe are going to be so happy. Probably forty-five percent happier than unmarried people.” Her breath hitches as she adds, “And they’re getting a puppy and once they do, Chase will want to live with them all the time and he’ll hate it here and I’ll cry myself to death.”
“Stop it,” I say, reaching for the book.
She covers my hand with hers. “What are you doing?”
“You’re using this as an instrument of self-harm,” I say, tugging at the book. “This is your knife. I’m taking it away until you can be trusted not to hurt yourself.”
She relaxes the pressure on my hand. “You’re right. I am.”
“So, let me put it away,” I say gently. “I’ll hide it and won’t tell you where I put it until you’re in a better headspace.”
She looks up at me, her bottom lip trembling. “But what if I’m never in a better headspace? I’m not as good without him, Aaron. He was my rock, my north star. You know? I never understood how much until he was gone, and it was so h-hard to keep everything going without him. I’m not as strong or as organized or as me without him. Happiness feels like…” She trails off with a shake of her head.
“Like a dream?” I offer softly. “One you had a long time ago that doesn’t seem real anymore? That you kind of doubt you’ll dream again?”
She nods and leans her head against my good shoulder.
I close the book and push it to the far side of the table before putting my arm around her. “You will dream it again. You’ll feel it again. It just takes time.”
“It’s already been almost a year since we separated,” she whispers.
I grunt. “A year? That’s nothing. It took me five years to stop wanting to beat the shit out of my dad and even longer to forgive my mom for making Nora cry. After we came to live with Gram, Mom kept promising she’d be here to visit on the weekend, but she hardly ever showed. Every time she stood us up, Nora would cry and cry, like it was the first time she’d had her heart destroyed, every time. Made me crazy. And angry. And sad.”
Mel rests a hand on my thigh under the table. “I’m sorry your childhood was garbage.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” she says, leaning away from my shoulder. “I had a wonderful childhood and life still feels so hard sometimes. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you and Nora. But you both make being kind and fun look so easy.”
“I am kind and fun,” I agree. “Glad you finally noticed. Also, desperately good-looking.”
She arches a brow. “Desperately?”
“Like, it makes you feel a little anxious. My good looks,” I continue, determined to cheer her up. “You get a racing feeling in your chest. Then, your palms start to itch with the urge to get your hands on all this manly beauty. Before you know it, you need a drink to calm your nerves.”
She reaches for her whiskey. “You’re right. Thank goodness I already have one at the ready.” She takes a sip and sighs. “You must think I’m pathetic. I have so much—a wonderful family, a healthy kid, a great job—and I’m so ungrateful.”
“You’re not ungrateful. You’re grieving a big loss. You can be grateful and grieving at the same time. My therapist says it’s kind of necessary, actually. The gratitude part keeps you from getting bitter and mean during the grieving part.”
She shifts on her chair, facing me fully. “Who are you?”
I blink. “Um, I’m the guy you invited to stay at your house. Maybe you should lay off the whiskey for the rest of the night.”
“No, I mean, are you the alpha male with a heart of gold character you play for the television cameras? Or the jerk I knew as a kid? Or are you…this?” Her gaze flicks down to my chest and back up, her eyes shining again as she adds, “This genuinely sweet man with a huge heart?”
“My huge heart isn’t what most women want to talk about,” I tease, but she doesn’t smile.
“I’m serious,” she says. “I don’t know how to reconcile the kid I knew or the puffed up ‘winner winner chicken dinner’ guy from the pre-game show with the person talking to me right now.”
“Winner winner chicken dinner?” I echo with a furrowed brow. “That makes me sound like some kind of cheesy, professional sports bro.”