Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Just give me a minute.” I thought I heard her sigh as I went to work oiling the hinges, a task I finished all too quickly. When I was done, I tested it out. The door opened soundlessly. “There. That’s better.”
I recapped the can and set it down before wandering over to her, sticking my hands in my pockets. I should have cleaned up first, I thought. The other night when she’d come looking for me, she’d looked so beautiful and smelled so good—and here I was with dirty, rough hands, mud on my boots, and probably smelling like horses and turpentine. Not sexy.
When we were toe to toe, she looked up at me. “What do you want, Ryan?”
“You mad at me?”
She exhaled and looked toward the street. “I don’t know. Kind of. I’m more mad at myself, though.”
“Why?”
She lifted her shoulders. “I keep setting myself up for disappointment.”
“I keep setting myself up to disappoint people. Quite a pair we make.”
She looked up at me, and I gestured to the spot next to her. “Can I sit?”
“I guess.”
I lowered myself onto the swing, setting it gently in motion. “Thanks. Sorry if I smell like a barn. I was working in the stables this afternoon.”
“I didn’t realize Cloverleigh was still a horse farm.”
I nodded. “The farm isn’t huge, but they still board maybe a dozen horses and keep some sheep, goats, chickens. I don’t really work with the animals, though.”
“I haven’t been there in a long time. I hear it’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.” It was the perfect opening to ask her to dinner, but somehow the words wouldn’t come out yet. “So I saw you packing up your car. Are you leaving tonight?”
“Does it matter?”
I frowned. “Guess I deserved that.”
She crossed her arms even tighter, and looked out at the street again, away from me. “What are you doing here, Ryan?”
I forced myself to say the words. “I’d like to take you out for dinner.”
She looked at me like she might have heard wrong. “Dinner?”
“Yes. Dinner. Maybe at Cloverleigh, if you’re up for it.”
“But last night you said you don’t date.”
“It’s true. I don’t.”
“So this would be what?”
I thought for a second. What would a normal person call it, if not a date? “Dinner with a friend?”
“Are we friends?”
“I’d like us to be.”
She inhaled and exhaled slowly, appearing to think it over. “Okay.”
“Okay, you’ll have dinner with me tonight?”
“Yes. I’m not leaving until tomorrow. I was just loading some things in my trunk that Grams wanted to give me.”
“You think she’ll be okay if I take you to dinner?”
That made her laugh. “Uh, yeah. I think she’ll be very happy, actually.”
“Good. Seven o’clock work for you? That gives me time to go home and clean up.”
“Seven is fine.”
The plan was made, and there wasn’t really a reason to keep sitting there, but I didn’t want to get up yet. There was something nice about sitting next to her on that swing, about the way I could smell her hair, about her bare toes. What would happen if I put my arm around her? Would she move a little closer? Put her head on my shoulder? Her hand on my thigh?
After a moment, Stella pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Can I ask you something, Ryan?”
“Okay,” I said, a little uneasy at the idea of answering questions.
She tipped her head, resting her temple on one knee. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I was just wondering what made you change your mind.”
I decided to be honest. “I saw you packing up your car and realized I didn’t want you to go.”
“Last night you didn’t seem to care when I left.”
“Uh, yeah, that.” I rubbed the back of my neck, which felt gritty. “Sorry. I was kind of a dick.”
“Kind of.”
“I guess that’s just my way of dealing with a situation or a feeling I don’t like. I sort of … turn everything off. Shut down.”
“Is it easy for you?”
“Yeah. It is.”
She thought about that for a moment, then she picked up her head and set her chin on her knees, looking straight ahead.
Tense, I waited for her to say something more, or feed me some therapist bullshit about how I shouldn’t repress my feelings and maybe if I talked more openly about my issues, I wouldn’t be so moody, but she never said another word. Maybe she remembered how I’d jumped down her throat the last time she asked about my past. I still felt bad about that.
But that didn’t mean I wanted to talk about it.
Eventually I stood up and grabbed the can of WD-40. “I should get going. I’ll see you at seven?”
She smiled at me. “I’ll be ready.”
There, I did it, I thought as I walked back to my house. Something normal. I’d asked a friend to dinner.