Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“It’s not? You’re kicking ass at Taste right now. Call me biased, but Taste isn’t just some fast food kitchen. Only someone who has real talent could be doing what you’re doing there. And you didn’t just stumble into it. You decided it was going to happen and you dropped everything to make it reality.”
My mouth goes dry when I replay the words “dropped everything” in my mind again and again. Does he mean I dropped him? Is that what he thinks? I’m trying to think of a way to explain my feelings when we reach Dr. Knight’s office.
“Shit,” he says. There’s a paper on the door saying they are off early because of the hockey tournament.
“Small towns,” I say, laughing a little.
“Alright, I guess we’ll just call an ambulance from the city.”
“No!” I blurt. “No, just… take me home. I promise I’ll go see Dr. Knight first thing in the morning.”
He stands silently for a few seconds before answering. “I’m staying over, then. And I’m taking you to see her in the morning.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Maybe I just want an excuse to stay over.”
“Are you going to be able to carry me all the way back to the rental?”
“I’d carry you off a mountain if I had to, Calloway.”
I laugh. “Why would we be on a mountain together?”
“Romantic ice fishing trip,” he suggests as he starts walking.
“I don’t know if there’s ice fishing on top of mountains.”
“Maybe we’d have to cross a mountain on our way back, then.”
“This sounds more perilous than romantic.”
“Then I’d carry you from the nosebleed seats at a Broadway play.”
I laugh. “How would I get hurt so badly I’d need to be carried at a Broadway play? Clapping too hard?”
“Exactly. Besides, you just got hurt getting up to go take a piss. I’m going to have to be on constant vigil with you, it seems.”
I smile, biting the corner of my lip. This feels like the way it was with us before. Now that I know what happened with his parents, the change in him feels more tragic than frustrating. “Yeah,” I say. “But how are you going to keep an eye on me when the hockey season starts again?”
My question cuts through the light mood like a sudden burst of thunder. I don’t know why I asked it. I was enjoying the moment, but I think of the old cliche about opposites attracting. Me and Nolan are completely different people, but when it comes to our drive and our careers, we’re not so different.
Nolan slows his pace for a heartbeat, then starts walking again without responding to my question.
Getting along with him is frustratingly easy, even when he’s actually trying to push me away.
The problem is we’re both too determined to chase after what matters to us. I’m not going to leave Taste and I’m not going to leave Frosty Harbor to follow him around the country for several months a year. I don’t just want to be the obedient girlfriend or wife waiting at home for my husband. I don’t want to introduce myself as “Nolan’s girlfriend”. I don’t want to be known as “that NHL guy’s wife.” I want to be Mia Calloway, that badass chef.
None of that is Nolan’s fault, but just like magnets, our similarities in purpose seem to make us repel each other whenever we get too close.
Maybe the only way we can ever come together is if we figure out where that point of repulsion is. Maybe it’s the place just beyond casual sex and friendship–the place where real feelings start and the carefree fun ends. We’ll have to keep dancing right up to the edge where everything gets ruined. Or maybe we’ll keep bashing right into that danger zone again and again, forever pushing each other away in an endless, pointless cycle.
I’m deep in thought by the time he kicks open the door to my cabin. “Doing okay?” he asks.
“Mhm,” I say, even though my mood has soured during the walk. Because there it is again. That invisible force trying to push us back apart.
27
NOLAN
I’ve got Mia set up on the bed with a pillow under her ankle to elevate it. I’m digging through her freezer for something to ice the foot. I find a cold compress buried under some peas and an impressive assortment of meal prepped tupperwares full of delicious looking combinations of food.
I grin. I remember when we dated briefly, Mia talked about how she always meal-prepped during her figure skating days. She said it was the only way she could make sure she ate enough. Otherwise, her coach was constantly scolding her for losing weight. Back then, she talked about boring bland chicken and rice. The containers in her fridge now are a huge step up in quality from those days for her.
I return to the bedroom and find her laying there above the covers with her hands threaded over her stomach. She’s watching me quietly with an unreadable expression.