Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 188002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 940(@200wpm)___ 752(@250wpm)___ 627(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 940(@200wpm)___ 752(@250wpm)___ 627(@300wpm)
Finally, he’s opening up, but the vagueness is still there like a thin blanket thrown over us. “I know you’re trying. We’re in this together, whether you’re in a good mood or a bad mood. I don’t need or want or expect perfect. I just want you.”
The bird has flown away, and his gaze shifts down to our hands. He nods slowly and then talks in a very low, almost whispered tone. “I guess I really don’t remember having a headache.”
This is one of those moments in life when I can dig deep for answers and force him to face his problems or I can sweep it under the rug, kiss it better, and hope it never creeps out again.
I choose to kiss it better.
“Sometimes I can’t remember what I did yesterday, either. Let’s go get something to eat. I promised our fuzzy boy a doughnut, and he’s been very patient.”
The smile on his face washes away all my earlier doubts and unease, and I silently vow to stop analyzing him. Lots of people forget things and go through moods, myself included.
We spend the day driving around listening to music and talk about an article Blue once read about paint colors that are supposed to evoke certain moods. I jot down the colors in a pocket notebook I keep in my purse so I can try to find them when Ditra and I buy paint for my new apartment, because the first thing I’m doing is painting over all the stark-white walls.
By the end of the day, I have swept away and forgotten the confusion and the elephant in the room.
Chapter Fourteen
The past two weeks have been some of the best of my life. I’m floating on a cloud, wearing a perpetual smile. Nothing can break through my wall of happy.
I’ve been in my apartment for three days, and it’s seriously an indescribable feeling. My very own place. Ditra and I hung scattered wooden shelves on one wall of my living room and then filled them with books that have been stored in my closet for years. We surrounded the books with cool bookends and heavy candles we found at the flea market. I painted the entire apartment in earth tones, mixed in cool blues and grays, and added a few random bright red throw pillows to add a splash of color. As silly as it sounds, when I come home from work at night I just wander around the small apartment, squealing over how cute it is. How mine it is. Even Archie seems happier, because he finally has lots of windows to sit in and gaze out of. What really won him over is the new carpeted cat tree I put in front of the window in the living room. Now he can stare at the birds and squirrels in the backyard all day long. In between naps, of course.
Tonight I’m silently squealing in my new apartment for an entirely new reason.
Blue is here. In my apartment. I almost fainted with shock and excitement earlier today at the park when he asked if he could meet me here tonight. I was sure he’d bail at the last minute, but he’s here right now with Acorn—and penguin—in tow, slowly walking around, reading the spines of my books and studying the photographs on my wall. He looks so ethereal here in my space, I feel like an angel came down from heaven to grace me with his presence. And Acorn seems to be having the same effect on Archie, who hasn’t hissed or run away once.
I’m filled with butterflies, and I’m hoping this could be the start of something really good. I guess Ditra was right, after all. Blue just needed to do this on his own terms.
“So this is you.” His deep voice is like thunder rumbling in the distance. Warning, yet seductive.
“This is me. Do you like it?”
Nodding, he crosses the room to sit with me on the couch. “I do. It’s cozy. Safe.”
“I picked the colors you told me about.”
“I noticed. The red is sexy.” His hand rests on my upper thigh, his fingers lightly squeezing. “Do you have a little red dress? Or a black one?”
My mind reels from the sudden shift in the conversation. “Yes, one of each, actually.” There was a time last year when Ditra was buying me ‘hook up’ clothes and dragging me to clubs in an attempt to pick up guys. She picked up many, I picked up none, and three of those dresses are currently in the back of my new closet.
“High heels?” he asks.
“I have a pair of four-inch heels I can barely walk in. Ditra picked them out and I wore them once and ended up taking them off and going barefoot all night bec—”
He interrupts my babbling, and moves his hand farther up my thigh until his fingers are brushing against my lips through my slacks. “Go put it on. The red dress and the shoes.”