Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“I know it’s not terribly original, but it’s apt. I had it done about a week after you left.”
“It’s wonderful. God, Tina. It’s so damned wonderful.” She had taken the one perfect thing to come out of that night and put it on the pendant that she had once referred to with such contempt.
“Why did you do this?”
“Because I wanted you to know that you’re important to me. That I value our friendship. That I care about you.”
“That you like me?” he prompted with a smile, wanting to hear those words again. When she had first said them, they had seemed like a death knell to his dreams of a future with her. But now he saw them as a foundation to build upon. You couldn’t love someone without liking them first. So he would take that like and nurture it like a flower . . . hoping it would blossom into love someday.
“No, Harris,” she said, her beautiful green eyes somber as they gazed levelly up at him. “I didn’t know it then. Or maybe I always knew it. But I think I wanted you to know that I love you.”
The words staggered him. They confused him. He knew he was supposed to feel joy, elation, all of the good things. After all, she was telling him she loved him, and it was everything he thought he’d always wanted. But all he felt was disappointment.
“You don’t love me, Tina,” he said, confusion and a little bit of outrage in his voice. “You can’t. How can you?” There was naked pleading in the last three words. He wanted her to explain it in a way that would convince him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she meant what she had said. He was desperate to believe her. But realistically he knew there was absolutely no way there was any truth to her words.
She chewed pensively on her lower lip, looking uncertain, clearly not sure how to handle his blatant disbelief. Her pretty brow furrowed as she seemed to gather her thoughts.
“When I was a silly teen, I had a massive crush on you—you know that.” He nodded curtly, not sure where she was going with this but happy to hear her out if it meant finding a way to believe her. “And after . . . that night, I thought I loathed you.” He flinched but nodded again. This was familiar territory.
“And recently, as you know, I discovered that really I like you. But I do believe that—no, I know that—through it all, I loved you. Always, and likely forever. I love you, Harris. I’m completely in love with you.”
“No,” he denied gently. “You’re not, sweetheart. You didn’t. You don’t. You couldn’t have. If you grow to love me at some point in the future, I’d consider myself the luckiest man in the world. And I’m happy to wait for that moment. I’m a patient man; I can wait until I’ve earned your love. Until I deserve it.”
“You do deserve it. You have earned it. I love you so much. I admit I didn’t know it until very, very recently, but once I recognized what I was feeling, I understood that I never really hated you. I did go through a period of not liking you, Harris. I know you know that. But I never hated you. How could I possibly hate the father of my child? I looked at him and felt so much overwhelming love. There was no room in my heart for hate.”
“I think the love you felt for him made you generously want to include me in the emotion,” he said logically, keeping that little fucker hope squashed firmly beneath his boot.
“Stop telling me how I feel, Harris,” she said impatiently. “You really need to work on that. Add it to the list. ‘Harrison will not speak for Martine, will not make decisions for Martine, and he will never presume to tell her what she’s feeling.’ Because, while I’m aware of the fact that I’ve been a hot frickin’ mess for years, I do know my mind—for the most part—and I know my heart. I’ve been in denial, and distracted by so many other emotions. But not anymore, Harris. My love for you is obvious to me now. So clear and untarnished and as bright as the dawning sun.”
His lips twitched, and hope tentatively slid out from beneath his boot.
Once upon a time, in the very recent past, Harrison Chapman had been the type of man who had no time for wishes. He had considered them ridiculous and whimsical.
Now he looked at this woman, with her wayward red curls and her milky complexion peppered with cinnamon freckles, and he found himself wishing. The man who had no time to waste dillydallying over wishes closed his eyes and wished, more than anything in the world, for her words to be true. Wished for her to truly love him.