Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Of all the places I would have picked, hypothetically, to be having dinner with my wife—who, by the way, is smoking hot—this place wasn’t one of them.
I picked her up after her guitar lessons were over for the day. I’d found a nice five-star restaurant that had private rooms because privacy was key for us. I’m still very aware that my cousins are out there like three nebulous balls of ass waiting to make an ass destruction.
“This is lovely.” Weland’s eyes trace the private room that I booked. “But does it have to be just us? It feels a little bit…I don’t know. I guess I like it, but it feels a little bit like we have money.”
“We do have money,” I point out.
“You have money.” She smiles faintly. “I’m sorry. You want this to be a nice evening. I’ll shut up and let it be nice, even if it feels strange to do something so…ritzy.”
“I wanted to spoil you,” I tell her.
“I also know it’s because you want this to be as low-key as possible. It’s a nice place. I like the wood on the walls and the fireplace over there. It reminds me of some cottage in the middle of the woods, out of the way. Something no one would ever find. Our private retreat.”
It’s the way she says that word. Our. It gets me longing. It’s the kind of longing I’ve always felt deep in my gut. A longing that says I don’t have a mom or a dad, though I did once, at least a mom, and my whole life, I’ve wanted to just know her. To have her back. I’m shocked that just a few words from this woman are enough to take me there and make me feel that way.
“Sterling?” Also, the way she says my name. Soft. Intimate. As if it’s just us here, even though there are servers hovering around, people on the other side of the door doing their jobs, bustling around, making food, serving food, and also people eating food out there.
I didn’t go all out and book the whole place. I just booked this private function room. It’s just us and some other tables and chairs in here, with the setting sun outside the windows, woodsy walls, old antique art in heavy frames, red drapes, and a roaring fire in the corner like it’s not the middle of summer out there. Somehow, the room isn’t hot at all. It’s perfectly temperature-controlled, which gives me an idea.
I realize Weland’s place is only a rental, but she needs air conditioning. I want to get one installed for her, but I know if I tell her, she’ll protest. She’ll probably talk about landlords and how she doesn’t really need it and on and on. I want it to be a surprise for her, and I plan on making a few phone calls to Smitty later to get the permission I need from whomever it takes to get one installed. “No” is not something I’m willing to settle for.
“Sorry. I’m here,” I say, breaking out of my thoughts.
Weland searches my face, and then her smile grows. “You are. That’s the crazy thing. You could be anywhere, but you’re here with me. In Detroit. You could be all over the world, making good music, doing meetings, or…or…staying in your vacation houses or in Nashville at the center of everything, but you’re not.”
“No. None of that is important right now.” Weland’s important, and I want her to know that. I want her to know that now that we’re trying this, I’m all in. I didn’t know that was a thing, but it is, and I’m diving into it. I’ve always been so cautious. This doesn’t feel cautious. But maybe it’s okay because it’s like I’ve been looking at the lake for four years before I ever dipped my toes in, and I know swimming is what I want to do.
“I—I’m honored. Really.”
“Me too.” I want to take her hands. I want to slide over with my chair, pull her into my lap, and kiss her until we’re breathless. I want her in my arms. I want her to lose all inhibitions in this private room and—
“What do you think is good?” She frowns at the menu, which is lying flat on the table in front of her. I don’t think she has even really looked at it since we got here.
I know I haven’t looked at mine. I’m too busy looking at her. She’s in a long maxi dress that has a black skirt and flowers up top, and I’m pretty sure it is right out of the seventies. It has three-quarter-length sleeves, and it fits Weland like it was made for her. She’s piled her hair up half messy, half styled, and the softest pink lipstick sets off a set of perfect lips that I’d very much like to be tasting right now.