Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
I swirled the burgundy liquid in my glass, noting the reflection from the rustic Spanish lantern-style pendants over the marble island. This house was a contemporary-meets-old-world masterpiece. Wrought iron fixtures juxtaposed with glass and steel and interesting artwork hung in between arched doorways. Harry built this place for Mom after they got married, but they didn’t move in until I left for college. This was their place. Not mine. I wasn’t being negative. It was just a fact. Sometimes, I felt like my clearance for dinner invites was a notch above Sky’s. Maybe I was being a dick, but just being here reminded me of everything I didn’t have anymore.
Although tonight wasn’t so bad. I stuffed myself on Mom’s famous spaghetti and garlic bread and sipped wine while watching Sky politely handle their rapid-fire questions. I tried to step in a few times, but he seemed more than capable. And if I were playing the part of casual workplace friend and fellow student, I couldn’t act like an overly protective boyfriend or—Whoa! Wait a sec. Scratch that. Too soon.
Yet as I sat next to him at the kitchen table in a house that had never felt like home, I was aware of some kind of invisible thread tethering me to him that seemed to get stronger every day. I stared at Sky’s handsome profile, watching his lips move and his eyes spark with humor, and damn, I wanted to touch him. I found myself in observation mode around him. He had a talent for being outwardly friendly but not giving anything away, like he was constantly on guard. I was beginning to realize that made sense. Balancing two different pieces of your life was exhausting. Sky was a confident, no-nonsense jock, but he had a slightly nerdy side and a big-ass secret. And according to Harry, he had a promising career ahead of him in accounting if baseball didn’t work out. Talk about a rough compliment. I sipped my wine and tuned in to the tail end of a conversation about teaching mid-century modern art to eighteen-year-olds.
“…the architecture and furniture captivate them. Philip Johnson’s Glass House is one of their favorites. We had a very enlightening discussion about the practicality of living in a peek-a-boo house,” Mom said with a laugh.
“And what do you think, my dear?” Harry asked, pushing his plate aside and leaning his elbows on the table. God, they were goopy.
I cast an “I told you so” look in Sky’s direction, but he was obviously fascinated by Mom and Harry. A lot of people were. When Mom and Harry first met, everyone thought it had to be money. The twenty-five-year age gap and a significant difference in bank account balances was a major tip-off. And really, the pretty, young, penniless divorcée with a kid marrying a bald, overweight, rich guy kind of told the story on its own. But it wasn’t like that at all. My mom adored Harry. Seriously adored him. She lit up when he walked into a room. And when he started talking, she got a dreamy look in her eye that might have been funny if Harry hadn’t been staring at her the same way. The way he was right now.
“Keeping the windows clean would be a full-time job, my love. And I love our home,” she replied in a sappy tone.
Oh, my God. Time’s up. Get me outta here.
I slugged back the last of my wine and pushed my chair from the table. “We should go.”
“What about dessert? I made tiramisu,” Mom said, gathering the plates quickly and hurrying to the island. “Sit tight. I’ll make some coffee too. You boys continue the debate. What do you think, Sky? Glass house…yes or no?”
“Mom…”
“I’ll get the coffee, my darling,” Harry offered.
My darling, my dear, my love…ugh. I was about to stand and put an end to dessert and coffee when Sky put his hand on my knee…and kept it there.
“I like modern architecture,” he said conversationally. “But I need private space…away from windows. I like being alone.”
“Colby is like that too. He hates crowds. He likes small quiet places,” Mom tattled as she returned to the table with tiramisu.
“Me too. I had a fort and tent stage that lasted a few years.” Sky chuckled, then thanked my mother when she slid a slice of dessert toward him. “I draped bedsheets between a desk and a chair in my bedroom and slept in a sleeping bag and pretended I was outside under the stars.”
“Why didn’t you just take your sleeping bag outside and do it for real?” I asked.
“I wasn’t allowed to. I don’t remember why. Coyotes or something.”
I did a double take at the quick response. I thought he said he lived on a ranch. Didn’t cowboys in training sleep under the stars at night all the time? I noted the twitch at the corner of his mouth and his white knuckles on his fork. He knew I was watching him. I captured his hand when he lifted his from my knee and entwined my fingers with his. Don’t ask me why. I didn’t know. It was instinctive. Like I wanted to protect him from imaginary coyotes or something. The surprising part was that he didn’t let go. We held hands under the table until we were ready to say our good-byes.