Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 103119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
She opened her mouth to make a joke about Californians never being prepared for rain. But she stopped short, a flash of cold running up her arms. There on the marble counter sat the envelope containing the secret admirer letter.
No.
Both of them.
They were in a neat stack, naturally, with a brass duck paperweight on top.
Oh Lord. He’d gotten them. Both letters. Read them with his eyes and brain and forearms. They sat between them like an accusation. Was she too blindsided by her crush to realize she’d just walked into a confrontation? Her pulse picked up. She needed to figure out what was going on here and fast.
“Is Natalie home?” she asked, glancing toward the back of the house.
“No. On a date, I believe.”
“Really? Good for her. In the rain and everything.”
“Yes.” He seemed to blink himself out of a trance. “She met someone at the gas station of all places. I don’t understand how that happens. I’ve never had a conversation with anyone while filling my tank, but she seems to have built-in . . . what do my students call it? Tinder?”
“Her sixth sense is locating single people. That’s an enviable skill.”
His left eye twitched. “You wish you were better at asking out men?”
“Sure.” Were they having the most ironic conversation possible considering the letters sitting beneath the mallard? Or had he intentionally led them here in preparation for a secret admirer intervention? “Don’t you?” she managed through her dry throat. “Wish you were better at coming right out and telling someone that you’re interested?”
He considered her from across the island.
Thunder boomed outside.
Though she couldn’t see the lightning that came a few moments later, she imagined it zigzagging across the sky. Much like the veins in his forearms.
My God, pull yourself together.
“I don’t usually have a problem with that,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
There you have it, folks. Julian Vos didn’t have any issues telling the opposite sex he was interested. Was this a gentle letdown? Nice letters, but I’m into scholars who like to attend astronomy lectures instead of getting drunk and eating linguine.
“My problem mostly comes later in the acquaintance,” he continued. “When it’s time to state my intentions. I worry they’ll become attached when I have no intention of doing the same. I don’t want to promise something and not deliver. That’s worse than being . . .”
“Being what?”
“I don’t know. Disconnected.” He was beginning to look troubled. “I tend to remain disconnected with people, because it’s easier to focus. On work. On keeping time. It’s never bothered me until now. I never meant to become so unattached in all my relationships. Only romantic ones. But my sister. I don’t know what’s going on with her and . . .” He caught himself with a hard headshake. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.”
“I don’t mind.” In fact, with his halting revelation still hanging in the air, she could barely stand the pressure in her chest. “You’re worried about Natalie?”
“Yes,” he answered succinctly. “She’s always been so good about taking care of herself. Coming home would be a last resort for her.”
“Have you tried talking to her about it?”
After a moment, he shook his head, those bourbon eyes finding her from across the island. “What would you say? To make her comfortable enough for that?”
It meant something that Julian was asking her this. The tentative manner in which he posed the question told her exactly how often he requested advice. Next to never. “I would tell her you’re glad she’s here with you.”
Julian’s spine straightened more than it already was. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” Hallie nodded, folding her hands in front of her. “But before you say it, make sure you mean it. She’ll be able to tell the difference.”
His lips moved slightly, as if repeating her advice to himself.
This man. She’d been right about him. All along.
He was heroic.
Somewhere along the line, had he convinced himself of the opposite?
It took all of her self-control not to cross to the other side of the kitchen, go up on her tiptoes, and press their mouths together. But . . . would that be unethical now? He was opening up to her without knowing she’d written him those letters. Letters he’d obviously read and kept.
His gaze shifted down to the letters briefly, then away. “Someone recently asked me how I feel about my solitude. They said, ‘There’s so much space to think. To consider where I’ve been and where I’m going. I wonder if I’m who I’m meant to be or if I’m just too distracted to keep evolving.’” A wild rush of butterflies carried through Hallie, winging up into her shoulders and throat. Did he just quote her letter from memory? “That made sense to me.”
Oh dear. This wasn’t an intervention.
He’d read the letters . . . and liked them. They’d resonated with him.