Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I’ve contributed to our toxic patterns more than I’ve realized.
Every Wednesday, I take the trash to the road to be picked up. Jack doesn’t have a chance to do it. Instead of asking Jack, I ask Billie to pick up Maddie if I can’t. I didn’t ask him to help with the shelves, to mow the lot next door, or to help me with the laundry last week, when I was so overwhelmed with life that I wanted to cry.
I just did it. I did it all.
Sure, the reason I overfunctioned was because of his past behavior. But looking back on it now, I see that I made it too easy for him to drop the ball . . . and nearly impossible for him to pick it up again.
I glance at him through the window.
He says he wants to change, and I think he’s really trying. But just like I had to make adjustments before based on the circumstances, maybe it’s time to do that again.
As I’m pouring myself a second glass of wine, Jack carries in the burgers.
“I still got it,” he says, setting the platter in the middle of the table next to the buns and vegetable toppings. “Check those babies out.”
Ten burgers, a little singed on the edges but otherwise surprisingly okay, are heaped together in the center of a rose-printed plate.
Jack struts around the kitchen. “It appears I’ve missed my calling.”
“Oh, really?”
“I mean, you can’t deny that’s impressive.”
I giggle.
“What? Does it turn you on to watch a master chef at work?”
Laughing, I take two plates from the cabinet. “A master chef? You’ve cooked one meal. I hardly think you can claim master chef status.”
“I understand how some people think food is an aphrodisiac.” He smirks. “You’re turned on just thinking about how talented I am on the grill, aren’t you?”
“Well, if I was turned on thinking about you at the grill, it wouldn’t be food that was the aphrodisiac, then, would it?”
He lifts a brow. “Are you saying I’m an aphrodisiac, Mrs. Reed?”
“I’m saying what you said doesn’t make sense.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Besides, I don’t think hamburgers are on the list of things that up sexual arousal.”
He takes another beer out of the fridge and meets me at the table. We sit across from each other.
“What foods are on that list?” he asks, taking a proffered plate.
“Oysters are the most popular, I think. Clichéd, yes, but I’m pretty sure they scientifically improve your sex life.”
He screws up his face and places a huge stack of tomato slices on his burger. “How? They’re slimy and gross.”
“I think they have a lot of zinc, which amps up testosterone production.”
“Huh. What else?”
I hold up my glass and swirl the liquid around, holding his gaze. “Red wine. It has something in it that increases blood flow.”
Jack wiggles his brows, making me laugh.
“Watermelon is another one,” I say.
“Does the water make you wetter?”
“No,” I say, grinning. “It has something in it that increases the nitric oxide in the body. Somehow, that causes your blood vessels to relax, so your circulation speeds up. Hence, amped arousal.”
“How do you know all of this?”
I layer lettuce and tomatoes on my sandwich. Then, thinking—hoping—that pickles will disguise some of the spices, I add a few of those too.
“You’d be surprised at some of the things I know,” I say. “I listen to a lot of audiobooks.”
“What are you listening to that is talking about aphrodisiacs?”
I laugh. “Romance novels aren’t just smut, you know. You can learn things from time to time.”
“And where do you listen to these?”
I put the top on my sandwich. “While scrapbooking. Doing laundry. Waiting in the carpool line. Lying in the bath. Mowing the lawn. Shoveling snow last winter.”
Jack diverts his gaze to the table.
Crap. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, it’s okay. Even if you did.”
I sit back in my chair and watch my husband rearrange his sandwich.
We can’t keep doing this. If we want this to work out—and he says he does, and at the bottom of my heart, I do, too—this can’t happen every time we have a conversation.
My breath stalls while my heart thumps, rattling my rib cage. I want to open my mouth and tell him I’ll forget the past and we can go on from here and pretend like the last few years didn’t happen.
But that wouldn’t be fair—to me, to the kids, or to him. We all deserve better.
Fear streaks through me, warning me that I could end up right where I started when I got to Story Brook. But it’s just as terrifying to think that I might have walked away from Jack when it didn’t have to happen.
And maybe it doesn’t.
“Jack?”
He looks up.
I swallow so roughly that my ears pop. “We have no hope if we’re going to hold grudges.”
He wrinkles his forehead. “What do you mean?”