Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
“I meant that as a compliment, Rose.”
Her eyes came back to me.
“I…Good. That’s great then. Thank you?”
“How’s your ankle?” I asked, letting her off the hook.
“It’s better. It didn’t swell up, but I’m still taking it easy.”
At least the stiffness in her shoulders had softened a bit.
“How are we? Are we good as well?”
Her smile was as sweet as it could get.
“Yes, Jack.”
“You made lemon bars again,” I commented in the hopes of changing the conversation to safer ground when I felt myself drawn to her even more.
She shifted in her seat. “Actually, that was why I was coming in early. I promised you I’d make more of them yesterday, bring a batch back to the apartment maybe, because I like them too. I thought I’d get them done before opening up.”
“You made them for me?”
“I promised.” She shrugged and pushed her hands under her legs. “And I thought it would be a good apology for slamming the door in your face.”
I raised an eyebrow and took another sip of my coffee before reaching for one of the bars. Taking a bite, I watched her watching me.
Feeling eyes on me, I looked over Rose’s shoulder, saw Sally keeping an eye on us from her spot with interest, and missed the end of Rose’s sentence. I doubted we looked like a real couple from where she was standing, let alone a married one.
Maybe we should do something to fix that.
My focus shifted back to Rose.
“So we had our first married fight, huh? How do you feel about that?”
“The honeymoon stage is over for us, I’m afraid,” I agreed offhandedly.
She nodded. “We made quick work of that. I don’t see good things for the future of our marriage.”
“You never know. Maybe we’re one of those married couples who fight at the drop of a hat but never get a divorce. You might be stuck with me.”
“Oh, that sounds exhausting, and annoying for other people. Let’s not be like them. Let’s find better examples and try to imitate them.”
“Like who?”
Her gaze slid up to the ceiling as she tried to come up with an example. “Actually, I don’t think I know that many married couples. You?”
“I’m afraid the ones I know aren’t people I’d like to imitate,” I answered.
“Evelyn and Fred?”
“They are more like partners than anything else.”
“Oh, from the way Fred talked about her that night, I assumed they were in love.”
“They do love each other, but I think if they didn’t have a kid, they wouldn’t have much in common other than work.”
“Your parents? How about them? Are they still married? Do they have a happy marriage?”
After drinking almost half of the coffee, I put it down and leaned back. “The last people you’d like to imitate, trust me. Just look at how I turned out.”
“I don’t know. I think they did a pretty good job with you. Then how about we don’t imitate anyone and just make our own rules?”
“What kind of a couple do you want to be then?”
She thought about it some, taking sips of her coffee every now and then. “I don’t want to be one of those couples who are in everyone’s face, being all extra touchy. We could be more subtle, you know what I mean?”
I nodded and she kept going.
“Let me give you a small example, just in case. Let’s say we’re standing and talking to someone—you can hold my hand or have your arm around my waist, just keep it simple and…maybe a small, intimate kiss. I don’t know, just…simple.”
“Any other tips you have for me?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
“It wasn’t a tip, exactly. You asked what kind of couple I wanted us to be, so I’m just saying. I like that kind of couple.”
“What else?”
“I want to be the kind of couple that has traditions. Like…maybe Mondays are pizza nights. Thursday is pasta day. That type of thing.”
“That’s it?”
“Okay, give me a minute. I’m going to Google this and see what we’re working with. Let me get my phone.”
Before I could stop her, she got up and ran to the kitchen. Her movements were a little wobbly and she tried to tiptoe on her left foot, but in essence it would be called running. She waved Sally off when she looked alarmed, and her return was calmer, no running this time.
Puffing out a breath, she took her seat again and focused on the screen of her phone. “Okay, let me see…okay, there are more formal types like traditional, disengaged, cohesive, pursuer, distant—we won’t be that. I hate those types. Operatic…heated fighting followed by passionate lovemaking.” Her head snapped up and she stole a glance at me then quickly focused back on her phone. “Nope. Romantic couple—that doesn’t sound too bad, does it? Okay, let me try to find something more informal…”