Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Me: Just got into my place. Traffic was backed up. Headed to bed. Talk tomorrow.
“This is the right thing to do.” I turn the phone to Do Not Disturb before grabbing my bag and heading to my bedroom. I unpack the bag, tossing everything in the wash but the white T-shirt I slept in at his house, which I accidentally packed in my suitcase. I undress, thinking about taking a shower, but knowing that when I do, I won’t be able to smell him on me anymore.
I get into bed, hoping I fall asleep right away, but it takes forever. I rush out of the door the next day, arriving at the office ten minutes late, which I never do.
I walk into my office and see a brown bag on my desk. I toss my bag and shrug off the long cashmere jacket I took out to match my outfit this morning. I slip my heels on before walking behind my desk and seeing my name written on the brown bag. The top of the bag has staples, so I open the bag and pick up the white paper, opening it.
It’s a good thing my chair is there because I sit down, regardless of whether I want to.
Good morning, gorgeous.
Wish I was there stealing your fruit and yogurt.
Have the best day.
S.
I put the paper down to the side and grab the bowl in the bag. Taking it out, I see it’s a yogurt parfait like I made for myself at his house. “Fucking shit,” I blurt, putting the bowl down while I pick up the note again.
Pushing away from my desk, I go to my phone and pull up his name.
Me: Got the fruit bowl. Wish you were here so I could feed it to you.
I delete the whole thing before starting again.
Me: Morning. Thank you for the fruit bowl. Heading into a meeting. I’ll call you later.
My hand wants to pick up the phone to call him, but instead, I put the phone down. “This is what is going to happen,” I tell myself. “Today, you talk to him once.” I open the fruit bowl and grab a strawberry. “Then tomorrow, you text him but tell him how busy you are and miss his call, but also text him back. You aren’t going to be that rude bitch. Then the day after that, you call him, hoping he doesn’t pick up.” I grab a raspberry. “Then, by the end of the week, it’s one text a day, and you’ll have both moved on.” I nod. “Good talk,” I say to myself as I finish the fruit bowl.
I busy myself with work, and by the time I really look up, it’s past seven. I kick off my shoes and grab my stuff to get out of here. In the car, on the way home, I pull out my phone and see he’s tried to call me once four hours ago and then right after a text came in.
Stone: Headed to the rink, have a game tonight. I’ll text you after. I hope you had a good day. Talk later.
I text him quickly, knowing he’s probably on the ice.
Me: Just left work. On my way home, might grab something to eat or not. I’m exhausted. Hope you won the game. Sleep well.
Do I feel a tightness in my chest when I send him the text? Yes. Do I want to throw up? Yes. Do I want to do nothing but go to him? Also yes. Will I do anything about it? No. This is the way it has to be.
I get into bed, smelling him all around me and holding my pillow as I drift off to sleep. When I wake up the next day, I grab my phone, and when I don’t see a text from him, I can’t help the sadness that comes. This is what you wanted, I remind myself. This is why you can’t get involved with him. Look at how much you miss him, and it’s only been a week. Imagine if this went on longer. No way.
So I get out of bed and take off his shirt, bringing it to my nose one time before I get dressed. I get to work without incident, and when I finally sit at my desk to start my day, a knock on the door has me looking up.
“These came for you,” Claudia says, holding the crystal vase filled with pink roses in her hands.
“Oh my.” I get up to walk to her, taking the vase from her. “Thank you.” I turn to put them on my desk while she walks out the door.
My name is on the white card sticking out of the top. My hands shake as I pluck it off the transparent fork that holds it. Turning it over in my hand, my heart beats so freaking fast and loud it’s echoing in my ears.