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)
But I wouldn’t. Instead I’d dream of Ryan—hot, dirty, passionate dreams that would leave me breathing heavy and drenched with sweat, and I’d wake up every morning longing for the one man who’d claimed my heart and never let it go.
Thirty-Three
Ryan
November arrived and things slowed down at work, which sucked for me, because I needed things to keep me distracted. My feelings for Stella were like fucking chains on my heart, and they refused to break, no matter how hard I tried.
A thousand times I wanted to call her and beg her forgiveness, but I never did. Why should she forgive me? She’d been right—I’d lied to her. I’d broken her trust. I’d known she was scared of what she felt, and I’d told her she was safe. I’d told her I’d try.
But I did try, said a stubborn voice in my head. I tried and I failed. I fucked it up, and I don’t deserve a second chance. I’d only screw up again, because I don’t know what I’m doing. I never have. She deserves better.
But I missed her fiercely, not just her physical presence but the hope for change she’d brought to my life.
I spent more time on the house—patching and painting bedroom walls, refinishing the floors, repairing cracks in the ceiling. After checking with the real estate agent, who secured permission and funds from the owner, I decided to try tackling the kitchen. It was so horribly outdated, I knew the house wouldn’t have a prayer of selling without some refurbishment in there.
And I had the desire to take something ugly and make it beautiful again.
I asked Mack if he knew anyone with good taste that might help me choose some materials and appliances, and he suggested I ask April Sawyer. I shot her a text on the first Friday in November.
She replied that she’d be happy to help and offered to drive with me down to the Home Depot in Traverse City on Saturday. I’d have preferred to meet her there, but I didn’t want to be an asshole, so I said okay and told her I’d pick her up at Cloverleigh around three.
My phone rang a minute later.
“Why don’t I drive to your house?” April suggested. “That way I can see the space.”
“Oh, right. Okay.” I gave her the address. “See you tomorrow. Thanks.”
We hung up, and I looked around the kitchen, thinking that I’d better clean up if April was going to come look at it tomorrow. I washed all the dishes in the sink and put them away. I cleaned out the fridge. I dragged a mop over the floor. I gathered all the mail that had been piling up on the counter and sorted through it.
That’s when I saw the envelope with my name on it. No stamp, no return address, just Ryan written in cursive letters, black ink. I swallowed. Was this Stella’s writing? When had she written this? Before she left?
With my pulse pounding in my ears, I tore open the envelope and pulled out two handwritten pages.
Dear Ryan,
I want to start by saying how deeply sorry I was to hear about the loss of your friend. And I want to apologize for making tonight about me when it shouldn’t have been. I should not have come at you like that, asking difficult questions and making demands.
Hold on a second … she was apologizing to me? After the shit I said to her, she was sorry? I felt so low, I wanted to sink into the ground. It would almost have been easier if she’d just torn me a new asshole.
But I am new to this. I’ve never fallen for anyone the way I fell for you. The whirlwind of it caught me off guard.
I won’t deny that I’m heartbroken. Your words outside the restaurant, true or not, hurt me.
My throat was dry and tight. I hated the thought that I’d caused her pain.
But I want to thank you for showing me what true passion feels like. For pushing my boundaries. For getting me to take a risk and follow my heart. Because even though it didn’t lead me to happy ever after, it was a journey worth taking.
Love always is.
You might disagree—in fact, a few weeks ago, I might have disagreed. But in the short time we spent together, I’ve learned something.
The bravest thing you can do is trust another person, and let them see the real you.
I showed you the real me. I saw the real you. And I am a stronger person for it.
You are a good man, Ryan. I will always believe that. And I’ll never stop wondering what might have been.
Love,
Stella
P.S. There is a bourbon pecan pie with your name on it in Grams’s fridge.
I finished the letter, then immediately read it again. And again. And again.