Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
And I guess that was why my head was spinning with a million “what if” thoughts. We were together and alone and it was amazing. Yes, it was temporary, but…what if it wasn’t? What if we tried to extend this? Would he want that? Would I?
Yeah, I did. I really fucking wanted him.
I drove home from the gym in a kind of daze and parked in the driveway. I skirted the hedge to pick up an advert for housekeeping, widening my eyes comically when the ten-year-old from down the street came charging toward me.
“Did you see my rocket?” Lincoln asked excitedly.
I dropped my bag on the grass and pointed at the red foam Nerf rocket stuck in the hydrangea bushes along the perimeter of the wraparound porch.
“There it is. How did it get all the way over here?”
Linc brushed his mop of hair from his eyes and gave me a toothy grin. “I recalibrated the launch mechanism and shot this all the way from my house to yours.”
“No way.”
“Way! Are Holden and Tommy here? I want to show them. They’re going to freak out. Chet says I should try it at the park.”
I waved at Linc’s stepdad, waiting for him at the corner. I’d taken Chet’s room after he met and married Sam, the sexy football ref on the next block. They were good people, and Linc was a great kid who loved all things science.
He idolized Tommy and Holden and loved popping over to show off his experiments.
“That’s probably a good idea. I think Tommy and Holden are still at work, but I’ll be sure to tell them about your successful launch.”
“Thanks. Well…you could watch. Wanna come?”
Coming in second to the geek squad would have bugged me months ago. Now? I totally understood.
“I wish I could, but I need a shower. I just got home from the gym.” I made a production of smelling my pits to make him laugh.
“Okay. Maybe later. Tell Cole too. He’s gonna wanna see this.”
“I bet, but…he doesn’t live here anymore.”
Lincoln furrowed his brow. “Why not?”
“We got a place in Santa Monica.”
“You’re moving?”
“Yep.”
Lincoln stared at me dumbfounded for a long moment. “Why? Don’t you like it here? You live in the coolest house on the street. Why would you ever want to move?”
There was a simple explanation and I knew the answer, but at that very second, I couldn’t remember what it was. The kid was right. I loved it here. I loved this house and this street, and my oddball scientist roommates. Especially the one who stole the covers and quoted dead poets in his sleep.
“I don’t want to, but it’s far from work and…it’s the smart thing to do.”
He cocked his head thoughtfully. “Maybe you could get a job closer so you don’t have to move.”
“Maybe I should.” I ruffled his hair affectionately.
“Well…don’t forget to say good-bye, okay?”
“I won’t. See ya, Linc.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat and glanced over at Chet still waiting at the corner. I gave him a thumbs-up, smiling when he made a fist-bump motion in response. Geeks were the best, I mused, jingling my keys as I headed for the door where a massive bouquet of red roses blocked the entrance.
That had to be a mistake. I frowned, stooping to read the attached card.
Congratulations and thank you, M
M.
That was it. No indication of who they were meant for and no address attached. And the message was typed.
Weird.
I brought them inside, left them on the kitchen table, and went upstairs to shower. I immediately forgot about the roses ’cause A, they definitely weren’t for me and B, that exchange with Lincoln had thrown me back into a state of pondering. I mulled over the move I didn’t want to make and wondered if there was an alternative.
I could practically hear my dad’s voice. “There’s more than one way to crack an egg or eat an Oreo, kiddo.”
My brothers and I rolled our eyes at his dad-isms. Trust me, they were eye-roll worthy.
What can I do you for? Are you working hard or hardly working? They don’t make ’em like they used to.
And so on. And so on.
He wrote some of them in his cookbook as notes for—
I stopped in my tracks and wrapped the towel around my waist. I couldn’t believe where my mind was going. I usually avoided it ’cause honestly, nothing pissed me off quite like a faux-happy narrative, but I actually wanted to look at that book now. Huh.
I slowed my pace, giving myself time to change my mind as I crossed the hall to my room. I stared daggers at my dresser for a long moment, then finally gave in, unearthing the old cookbook from its hiding place in the bottom drawer. I braced myself for the usual emotional whammy—part anger, part longing, part grief—but it didn’t hit me quite as hard.