Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Anyway, half of me wonders if Asher’s granny tried to win me over because she thought it would be fun to toy with me as she believes in keeping her enemies close or because she was genuinely sorry about showing up at my house like a granny ghost of grannies past and scaring the living peanut butter and jelly out of me.
I can’t think about this anymore because I have to get the door. Plus, if I do any more thinking, I’m scared the top of my head will tear off and go rocketing into the ceiling. Or that I’ll just explode like my fridge jammed full of desserts.
Maybe it’s my mom. It would be perfect if it were my mom, surprising me. We could eat cake, pie, or cheesecake and talk about all this fake stuff morphing into something I don’t understand.
But no.
When I open the door, it’s Asher. Casual Asher, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. The only difference is he’s not grinning at me like he usually is when I find him out here. Instead, he jams the toe of his black boot into the door, and I back up, ready to throw down.
“Are you really sticking your toe into my door so I can’t close it on you?”
“Yup. I was afraid you’d do that.”
“I could break your toe, you know.”
“Unlikely. These are steel-toed boots.”
I eye them up and scoff, “No, they’re not.”
“They are,” he insists.
“They’re not. Why would you have steel-toed boots?”
“Touché. I’m a liar, and I’m lying about that. I’ve lied a lot in my life, about all manner of things. I’ve lied to my granny, to my mom, to friends, and certainly to any and all forms of media. I’ve lied about my life so many times that I’ve lost track. I’ve lied to employers and employees, to professors, my teachers before that, to other instructors, to…to just about everyone at some time or other. You’re the only person I haven’t lied to. Not that I’m a chronic liar. Because I’m not. I’m just being brutally honest here. And half of those were white lies. The kind of thing where someone asks if their dress looks great on them, and you know it doesn’t, but you lie because you don’t want to be a total jackass and tell them so. But I’m not a bad person. I know I’ve been made out to be a player, and I haven’t taken many relationships seriously…for a lot of reasons, half of which you already know. The other half, I can only say I was young and not ready and also fairly stupid, as young men usually are. The best thing that has happened to me, easily, in the past, let’s say a solid five years, is that kiss you gave me on the sidewalk. Also for many reasons, which I’m sure you don’t know. This wasn’t supposed to become legit. I don’t even really know what that means if we’re being honest here, which I am. I just know the time I’ve spent with you has been really, really good. Awesome, actually. I get why you panicked and freaked out. I get it because I took a good look at myself and my past and all the reasons you have not to trust me. I never wanted to hurt you. You are like this pearl. A rare pearl. A big and huge one. The most valuable…never mind. That’s bad. I read it somewhere, comparing women to pearls, but that’s not a good thing. You’re not a pearl, and you’re not cold or stony or silent. You’re real. You’re just…you’re you, and you have no idea how much I appreciate that.”
Asher finally stops and takes a breath. He takes several, actually. That was probably the longest speech I’ve ever heard anyone make, and it makes me feel mushy. Both bad and good mushy. The good mushy that gets you all excited because it’s a mushy day in spring after a long and treacherous winter, and you finally have hope of it getting nice out again after just nonsense cold for so long. But also the bad mushy. Like really craving a juicy pear and biting into it only to find out it’s all mealy, mushy, and nasty. So. Disappointing.
I don’t know what to say, but I do have a lot of desserts in my fridge, so I hear myself say, “Do you want to come in for cake? Or pie?”
Asher nods slowly. “I don’t normally eat dessert, but I think I can make an exception. Again.”
“What are you talking about?” I find myself caving, and I know my rationale is cracking. My firmness is also cracking, cracking around all the hard edges because I don’t really have hard edges at all. And now I’m cracking a smile.
“I had dessert last night after you both left. Alone.”