Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
The shirt shimmies off, and she stands there in the nude. The hall light is on this time, so even though the sun is barely up yet, she’s still illuminated in gold. I want to leap out of bed and grab her for an early morning not-so-quickie, but she moves to the door and pulls down a cherry red robe. That color on her somehow goes perfectly against her creamy skin without washing her out in the least. She slips it on and ties the belt, then sniffs the air comically.
“Shit on a stick, I think the waffles are burning. They’re almost ready. I’ll set the table. If you want to shower, go ahead. They’ll be about ten minutes anyway.”
I can’t, for the life of me, articulate real words at the moment, so I just nod. Cass rushes off to the kitchen, and I slowly sit up. I could go for a shower, but honestly, I’d rather spend the time with her before she goes to work, so I pull on my clothes from last night instead.
By the time I make it to the small kitchen, the mouth-watering smell of cooking dough has been joined by the rich aroma of fresh coffee. Cass has everything laid out on the table—syrup in one of those glass pouring jars you see in restaurants, two plates, a plate piled high with heart-shaped waffles, peanut butter and jam, a jar of chocolate spread, caramel sauce, sprinkles, and bowls of cut-up fruit and berries.
“I don’t know how you take your coffee,” she says, whipping around from where the machine is dripping its last drips into the pot below. “I’m thinking black, but you could surprise me and be a four-teaspoons-of-sugar kind of a guy. You do really like pie, after all.”
“Uh, yeah.” I brush my hand over my short hair. “Two creams, one sugar.”
“Ahh, cream. Yes. Coffee shouldn’t be consumed without cream. It’s a real gut burner otherwise.” She smiles at me with so much warmth that my stomach starts to hurt again in a good way. “You can sit down. I’ll get the coffee.”
The table is completely filled with the feast Cass prepared. I’m not sure what time she got up, but she went full out. A steaming mug of coffee with just the right amount of cream in it—because Cass is somehow magic like that—is set in front of me before she sits down in the chair across the table from me.
“I was thinking,” she says, still smiling. “I’m not going to let anything we talked about spoil our night. You’re the only one who has ever spent the night with me in this condo, so that’s a first, plus it was our first night together. That’s something to celebrate. Things don’t happen all at once. Baby steps, goals, tiny goals. We need to start building that bridge to infinity one freaking step at a time.”
I’m not sure what she means about the bridge, but I do know what she’s talking about. I heap three waffles onto the plate that has little daisies dotting the rim while I try and swallow the huge lump plugging up my throat.
She seemed kind of down after we talked about how dangerous my lifestyle really is, and it sucked. It really sucked. I’ve never met anyone like Cass before. Never met anyone I was so good with either. The semantics of it all, all the shit I was talking about last night and thinking about before that, it doubly sucks that it’s so complicated. We have so much to figure out, but we have to. I don’t want to lose Cass.
“Is that okay?” Cass sticks out her hand and grabs mine before it can make it halfway to the mug. She clasps it hard, and yeah, I’d much rather be holding her hand instead.
“More than.”
She smiles again instantaneously, and I make myself spread chocolate and syrup onto my waffles and add fruit even though my stomach is churning. I want to be hopeful, I really do, but this morning just proves to me that Cass is all rainbows and sweetness. She’s sunshine and freaking roses and hearts, cats with unicorn horns and mermaid tails, and all the other cute stuff everyone loves. She’s the kind of person who gets up early and makes waffles, but not just any waffles. Perfect, fluffy, delicious waffles. Could she handle a life on the run, a life of actual crime, a life without her loved ones? Would we be able to keep them safe even if she left? She’d miss them so much. All the doubts I had before come rushing back at me to choke me.
I cut into my waffles and take a bite, the sweet flavor making my mouth water before the dough even touches my tongue, even though I don’t feel hungry now that I’m worrying about everything again.