Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I knew from his tone that he understood what he was saying, that he knew the feeling intimately, that he could truly sympathize because he had been there himself. He had bodies in his mind as well, murder behind his eyes when he closed his lids at night.
He understood.
And that understanding seemed to be the last blow to the fortress wrapped around me, trapping me, keeping me still and mute.
My body moved, turning, wrapping around him as he sat up--legs around his lower back, arms around his shoulders. My face buried in his neck, taking more comfort than seemed normal in his usual scent, breathing it in, letting it wash over my insides like a balm.
"It's going to be okay," he assured me, wrapping me up tight, so tight that it was hard to breathe. "Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even next week, but I promise, it will be okay eventually."
"Gemmy--" Jules voice started as the door flew open, then dropped off on a sharp inhale of breath. "So, that's how it is, is it?" she asked, sounding both surprised and confused at the same time.
"Jules..." Lincoln started, but didn't so much as release me an inch.
"You know... I get it," she said, surprising me. "Trust me, I get it. But we are going to have words. For right now, though, take care of her."
"That won't be a problem," he assured her as she moved back out, closing the door, her heels clicking all the way down the stairs. "Guess the cat is out now."
Taking a deep breath, I finally found my voice. "Does that bother you?"
"That everyone knows I am with you? Fuck no, Gem. I want the whole world to know. Gonna have to get a skywriter."
"You just want pancakes next month," I mumbled into his throat.
"Well, I mean... I wouldn't turn down pancakes. And the cooking, I won't lie, I like that, babe. But it's more than that, you know that. I want you here when I get home. I want to walk in to hear you singing and dancing around the kitchen. I want to sit across from you, and hear you talk about your day. I want to curl up and watch movies with you. I want you in my bed with me. This house feels like a home when you're here."
"Can I grow herbs on the windowsill?"
"You can grow herbs in the fucking shower for all I care."
"And get rid of those ugly valances."
"Seeing as I don't know what a valance is, I feel confident in saying yes," he told me, hand running down my back. "You could paint the walls in rainbows, and bring home five-thousand stray dogs, turn the backyard into a bee sanctuary, convert the whole house to solar and wind energy. Whatever makes you happy."
It sounded a heck of a lot like he was inviting me to move in.
My heart shot up, but I tried desperately to force it back down, remind it not to get ahead of itself.
"What are you saying?" I asked, hearing the sort of desperate edge to my voice, my cheeks heating in response.
"I'm saying I think I finally stopped fucking it up," he told me, giving me a squeeze. "Think I finally found what my mom wanted me to find."
Love.
His mom had wanted him to find love.
Was that what he was saying?
Or was I overthinking things, jumping to far-fetched conclusions?
I knew how I felt, how I had been feeling for a while already. You didn't see future generations in the eyes of a one-night-stand or a weekender. That only happened with a forever kind of person.
Unsure what else to say, all I could manage was a hopeful, "Yeah?"
"I think we both know my history," he started, voice hesitant, like he was afraid he was putting women between us. When, really, we each had histories. Neither of us came into this as virgins. And that was okay.
"Yeah," I agreed, giving him a little reassuring squeeze.
"Never saw a future with any of them. I wanted to. But I never did. And I never--fucking never--said to them what I am going to say to you."
My belly did a delicious, yet almost scary, little wobble.
"I believe you."
To that, he pulled back just far enough to look down at me, to hold my gaze.
"I love you, Gemma," he told me, shaking his head a little at himself. "I know it is probably too soon to say something like that, but--"
"I knew days ago," I cut him off.
"Yeah?" he asked, tension leaving his face.
"There's this story I heard once about a medicine man who said that when you look into the eyes of your soulmate, you can see every generation you will create," I told him. "I saw generations in your eyes. And I knew."
"That has to be the sappiest, most amazing thing I've ever heard," he admitted, equal parts amazed and amused. He didn't exactly believe, but he didn't disbelieve either. "So, you kinda love me, huh?" he asked, eyes dancing.