Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 56462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
We’re well and truly halfway into the year, and while Mila has definitely eased up on her silent treatment, we’re still not where we need to be, but there’s no doubt how happy she is now. She comes and visits the workshop nearly every day, and while she hasn’t come right out and said it, I think she’s found purpose there.
She smiles every day, and I fucking love it. She even offers the occasional one to me, and when she does, it always blows me the fuck away. I always find her checking in on me, whether she casually walks past my office, acting as though she isn’t peeking in to see what I’m doing, or simply just being near me around the house.
She needs me, and while she won’t admit it, I know that she knows it.
Mila Morgan still loves me. I just wish she’d be able to get past this anger that’s engrained so deeply in her soul, and while it will kill me for her to ever leave here, if that’s what she still wishes by the time Christmas comes around, I will send her home.
We finish up dinner with my parents, something we tend to do quite a lot now. I never used to. Every blue moon I’d head over to their place, and it usually had something to do with not being fucked to cook, but things have been different since Mila arrived. My father doesn’t look at me as though he fears I’m going to fuck up anymore, and when Mom looks at me, it’s always with a proud smile.
Tonight though, it’s our turn to host dinner, and as usual, Mila stood right beside me in the kitchen and helped me cook a meal for my parents. And by help, I mean she eagerly listened to instructions, fucked them up, and needed me to fix it. She’s a disaster in the kitchen, and I don’t say that just to be a dick. I fucking mean it. She can’t be left alone with a spoon, but I love that she tries anyway. And I love that every time she does, she always glances over her shoulder, checking to see if she still has my undivided attention.
The answer is always yes.
I watch her, but she watches me right back, both of us trying to be discreet about it, but when it comes to Mila Morgan, there’s not a damn discreet thing about her. We’ve become in tune with each other’s movements, to the point that we no longer need the strained communication. I can simply look her way and she knows what I’m thinking. Same thing in the morning, she knows that after I’ve had something to eat and a coffee, there’s roughly three minutes until I walk out the door, and she always makes sure to beat me to the snowmobile to be the one who gets to drive.
There’s no doubt about it. She loves it here. She’s found peace, and yet I hate that despite how close we are, we’re still so far away. I need to hold her, need to feel her lips on mine, need to hear the way she whispers how she loves me, but most of all, I need to taste her.
With dinner out of the way, I start clearing the table, and just as Mila moves to get up, my father puts his hand over hers, keeping her seated. “How are you, dear?” he asks, searching her eyes for the truth, a skill he’s always been so good at.
She smiles, and I go about my business, clearing the table while doing everything I can to listen in on their conversation. “I’m happy,” she tells him. “Really happy.”
“But something is missing,” he says. “I sense it in you. Your heart is still hurting.”
Mila glances back at me, her gaze locking onto mine, and I don’t even bother to pretend I’m not listening. “It is,” she agrees, her words tearing me to pieces as she breaks our stare and turns back to face my father. “Don’t get me wrong, I love your son, and I wish there was some way I could simply put everything behind me, but I can’t shake this feeling that I was tricked into it. Yes, I asked for this, but I didn’t have all the information. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to the life I’d built for myself, and despite how much happier I am here with Nick, I still find myself missing the life I had. New York was where I grew up. It’s where my parents are buried, where I became the woman I am. I feel as though I’m mourning a part of myself.”
My head hangs low between my shoulders, not having realized how deeply she felt about this. It’s so much more than I had imagined. I never considered the attachments she had to that place. I just assumed she was ready to leave because she hated her job and was lonely. She was a broken version of herself, and while that part of her is mended, I fear all I’ve done is broken a different piece that I had no right to break.