Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
It takes the edge off the previous introduction, which I know she’ll appreciate as much as I do.
“I can’t take credit for it,” she replies, “but thanks.” By her calm voice and her steady disposition, you’d never know she was in the closet about to “die of humiliation” minutes prior.
“Loch’s mom designed it. She took graphic arts classes as part of her degree back in college and took on this project for the firm.”
Tuesday pulls the shirt away from her and looks down. I know what she’s thinking . . . classic. It’s a law firm, so it’s hard to go wild with a logo representing attorneys. “I like the details. What was her degree?”
“Art History. People have given her a hard time about it since we’re from a small town with no museums. She used to spend days in the city visiting museums to fill her cup, as she phrased it, but she really sees the beauty in everything, even in Beacon.” With his hands in his pockets, he chuckles. “She also had to do her best to balance against me. No one would ever call me creative.”
“I’m sure she’d say differently. I’m like her. I love going to museums.”
The words catch my attention. “You love museums?”
She nods, but then I see when it dawns in her eyes, and tears spring to her eyes. God, I hope they’re from joy. “I love museums?” Her giddiness erupts in the tiniest of squeals. “I love museums, Loch.”
“You love museums,” I say, sharing her excitement.
My dad says, “That’s really, um . . .” His lips tense under a furrowed brow.
I start to laugh, realizing we must sound outrageous. “She loves museums, Dad.” I give him a nudge, hoping he catches on. “That means she remembers she loves museums.”
It takes a second, but then he looks at her, and I can tell her joy is contagious when it reaches him. “You remember you love museums?”
“I do. Not sure which ones, but I know I loved going.”
Running the tips of my fingers along the inside of her wrist, I say, “I’m glad we’ve found another piece of the puzzle.”
She moves without thinking, her hand rubbing my back, but then stops shy of snuggling to my side. Taking a step back, I see that sweet pink creeping from under her collar.
I’m not sure if my dad notices or not, but he takes a few steps away and says, “I called Harbor while I was waiting in the corridor.” His attention shifts to Tuesday. “He invited me to stay with him and my daughter-in-law. I agreed it was probably best since Loch already has a guest.”
“We can make room, Dad.”
“No.” His hands go up. “I didn’t come into the city to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden.”
“You know what I mean. You two have a lot going on. I don’t want to disrupt your routine.”
Routine? Do Tuesday and I have a routine? It’s only been a few days and less that she’s been in my apartment. The assumption doesn’t bother me.
I have concerns that we’re moving too fast. We’ll need to talk about it when we’re alone again. “Dad, you can stay.”
“My mind is already made up. You kids have fun, and I’ll catch a cab.” He starts down the hall toward the door. “Anyway, they just made dinner and are saving a plate for me.” When he picks up his briefcase, he says, “How about we celebrate tomorrow night? The five of us?”
Honestly, he’s right. If he took over the guest bedroom, that would force Tuesday to sleep in my room whether she liked it or not. I’d rather her always have a choice and choose to be with me than out of obligation.
I walk him to the door, and mouth, “Thanks.”
His subtle thumbs-up makes me laugh. Being the worst actor ever, with a raised voice, he says, “You two have a good night. Nice meeting you, Tuesday.”
“Bye, Mr. Westcott. Nice meeting you, too.”
As soon as the door closes behind him, Tuesday asks, “What do you want to do?”
I move into her space, taking hold of her hips and wiggling them. “Pick up where we left off this morning?”
“Race you to the bedroom.”
“You better be naked under there.”
“What are you going to do if I’m not?” She tightens her grip on the covers, holding them under her chin.
I take a long deep breath keeping it locked inside my chest until I figure out what I want to do with my bad girl. A good start is tossing my jacket to a chair by the window and rolling up my shirtsleeves, my eyes never leaving hers. I maneuver to the end of the bed and dip my hands under the covers.
Finding her ankles, I yank her down. Her hands fly above her head and a squeak are the last signs of her before she’s buried under the blanket. Flipping the covers off, I stand before her and take her in. I sigh. “Very disappointing.” The match is lit in her eyes, the fire already burning. “I thought we had an understanding.”