Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Still looking for more clues about what makes him tick, I reach out and spin the fancy, rotating tie rack. Not as neutral as I feared, but not exactly full of bright and fun tie options either. Mostly there are lots of conservative blues and dark reds. I pause when I get to a bright green tie, my eyebrows lifting when I see the pattern is little tiny Rudolph heads.
I smile. My husband has a Christmas tie! A dorky one. It’s the most telling thing I’ve seen so far, though I don’t know exactly what it’s telling me. Was it a gift? A gag gift? Does he actually wear it?
I’ll never know. I’ll be out of his life for good before the holidays roll around. Back in San Francisco, celebrating Christmas the way I usually do. Christmas Eve at Kurt and Lewis’s annual party, and Christmas Day … alone.
I punch out Colin’s closet light and head back into the bedroom. I yelp when I see someone standing in the door, putting a hand over my pounding heart.
“You scared the crap out of me.”
Colin doesn’t move from the doorway, his scowl never wavering. “You didn’t see my note?”
“No, I did.”
“And this seemed like the smaller room to you?”
“I wanted to learn a little more about my darling hubby.”
His dark eyebrows go up fractionally. “And?”
“Do you ever wear the Rudolph tie?”
Instead of replying, he steps to the side, making space for me to exit his bedroom. “Out.”
I pretend to write on my palm. “Note to self, spouse does not share his space well.”
“While you’re making notes, jot this down … stay out of my bedroom.”
“Were you this much fun when we got married?” I ask.
“Were you this annoying?”
I give his chest an affectionate pat as I walk past him. “Oh, hubby. You haven’t seen anything yet.”
Chapter 5
Thursday, August 20
Honestly? I thought my last retort was a pretty good zinger. A solid last word that would have him retreating into the kitchen to ponder what I meant. Instead, he follows me into the guest room—my room—managing to look disinterested by my presence and highly perturbed at the same time.
I give Colin a perturbed look of my own. “If we’re going to survive the next few months, we’re going to need to talk about boundaries.”
“Says the woman who was just snooping through my bedroom.”
I go to the closet and slide open the doors, inspecting the unimpressive space. “This is smaller than yours. Criminally so.”
“It’ll hold whatever’s in that suitcase and then some.”
“Yes. But not the stuff arriving tomorrow.”
“What stuff arriving tomorrow?”
I turn. “You really thought I was going to move across the country with no more than what fits in an overhead compartment?”
He slowly lowers to the side of my bed, his hands clasped loosely between his spread knees. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. This whole situation is … atypical.”
I sit beside him on the bed, not close enough to be weird, but it’s still … weird.
I’m married to this guy. Objectively, I’ve known that for a decade now. But there’s a distinct difference between having a husband in name only and seeing the flesh and blood man.
And Colin Walsh is a man. Those suits that seemed so boring in his closet aren’t boring when they’re on him. His shoulders are broad, his waist lean, his legs are long, and probably …
“Where do you work out?”
He glances at me. “Excuse me?”
“Exercise. Is there a gym in the building?”
“Oh. Yeah. I can show you where it is tomorrow. I go every morning at six.”
“Which will feel like three to me, so … no, thanks.”
“You’ll have to get used to the time change at some point.”
“Oh really? Will I?” My tone is more snide than before, my patience quickly evaporating at his lecturing tone and the fact that he’s making me feel like a childish nuisance who’s invaded his home.
“Just a quick reminder,” I continue, flooded with all the frustration of the past week. “None of this is my fault. We both said our vows. We both signed that prenup agreement without reading it carefully. You’re the one who initiated the divorce, necessitating this three-month stint as roommates, and yet I’m the one who’s upended her entire life, moved across the country, and has a closet the size of a coffin. So how about a little patience?”
Instead of apologizing or acknowledging my very excellent points, he lifts his eyebrows. “And here I thought I was supposed to have the Irish temper.”
“Do you? Have a temper?”
“I have more important things to do with my life than lose my temper.”
“As opposed to me, who just fritters away her days getting manicures and shopping?”
He doesn’t bother to dignify that as he stands and goes to the door. “At least there’s one upside to all of this,” he says, turning and gesturing between the two of us.