Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Another article says the same as the last fifteen I’ve read. “Let the memories come back naturally.”
Encourage.
Gently remind.
Don’t force or get impatient.
“The memories will return when they’re ready.”
I highly doubt that’s in the next day or two, but it could also be never.
Fuck.
“What are you reading?” Poppy asks from across the room.
Dropping my feet to the floor, I sit up. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you. You seemed focused.”
Did she overhear me? Is she onto me? “I was scrolling social media. Just passing the time.”
“Ah.” She opens the fridge and stares inside. “What do you want for lunch?”
“For lunch?” You so much—to kiss your lips and touch your tits, to make you see fireworks with my tongue, and then watch as you return to me afterward. I can still see her so vividly from that weekend. The instant chemistry when we met, getting tipsy off beers, whiskey, and each other, licking sticky sweet barbecue sauce from the corner of her mouth, and then kissing her until we fell into bed. She danced for me—naked and carefree.
I fell so fucking hard for her that night.
Now, she doesn’t even know who I am.
As I look down at my phone, the screen goes dark but not before reminding me of her condition.
“Laird?”
“I’m good.” I want to throw my phone so hard against the wall and let out the anger that two and a half years have brought out. Not toward her. Never toward her but toward the heartbreak of the situation. “The omelet was filling.”
I think she likes to be busy because she starts pulling out odds and ends and some plates. “Do you think the mechanic can tow my car to the shop?”
“Yeah. If not, I can.”
“What if it snows again?” She peers through the kitchen window. “It’s not snowing, but will there be more tomorrow?” The chopping is quick, the carrots never standing a chance against her knife skills.
When I check the app, my stomach sinks. “The weather looks clear.”
“That’s good.”
“Is it?” Oh shit. I suck at hiding my true thoughts.
I’m met with silence, and then she starts in on the celery, the crunch distracting. I’ve waited years for a second chance, so I can’t lose this opportunity.
I clear my throat of the nerves that have been gathering and then say, “I was thinking—”
“What if I—” We speak at the same time. She smiles, making me believe there’s still a chance. “You go first.”
“It’s fine. I can wait.” I became an expert the day she didn’t show up.
“Well, I was thinking . . .” She sets the knife down and wipes her hand on a kitchen towel. “Since I’m already here, bought groceries, and the car might take a few days, how would you feel about me hanging around for part of the week?” Rushing her hands out, she adds, “You mentioned it earlier, but I know plans can change. I’ll work for my dinner, and dinner will be amazing, but no pressure.”
Sitting back, I rest my ankle over my knee and take her in—hair hanging over her shoulders with a soft wave from being tied back, the right side tucked behind her ear, exposing the bridge of her nose with the slightest of bumps in it. She’s not wearing much makeup, but she doesn’t need any. The woman is naturally stunning.
Sometimes it’s hard to look at her and know I can’t pull her into my arms. I can’t hold her or kiss the top of her head. I can’t be with her how I know in my heart we should.
Poppy’s right in front of me, and I still miss her.
So fucking much.
At least I get to bathe in her pretty smile and enjoy her sense of humor and food quips. I want to know everything about her, but it will take patience, like the articles warned.
I’m willing to wait as long as it takes for her to remember what we had or for her to fall for me all over again. Whichever comes first that has us ending up together.
I reply, “Stay the week as planned or as long as you like. We have food and can get more. But I don’t want you to stay as an employee.”
“No?”
“Stay as my guest, Poppy.”
A small smile tilts her lips as she leans against the kitchen cabinet. “Be careful what you wish for.”
“When it comes to you, I’m willing to take the risk.” I start toward her, for her, wishing we were together and I didn’t have to be careful.
“You drive a hard bargain. You know, all you had to do was ask.” Please don’t. As if she hears my silent plea, she looks around the family room. “Can I think about it?”
I slide onto a barstool, figuring I shouldn’t crowd her space. It’s not mine to claim anymore. Though kissing her is the only thing I can imagine doing, she’s not mine to claim anymore either.