Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“She left three hours ago.”
My eyes flew to the clock. “It’s already noon?”
“Sure is.” She slid the eggs onto a plate, then grabbed a fork and set the food in front of me. “Now eat.”
I tucked in, and Sam slid a cup of coffee over as my reward once I was finished. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” She leaned on the counter as her lips lifted in a smirk. “Now tell me how it was sleeping next to Jackson.” The woman wiggled her eyebrows.
“What? I mean…” Oh shit, I had slept next to him. I’d begged the man to stay with me and then spooned up on him and… “I fell asleep,” I whispered.
“Well, yeah. I told him if he took advantage, I’d bury him at sea, so that better have been all you did.”
My eyes flew to hers. “No, Sam. I fell asleep. No video.”
Her eyebrows rose. “No Will video?” she clarified.
“No. Just Jackson.” I hadn’t slept a night without watching that video in the nearly two years since I’d been given it. It had become my lullaby, my prayer, my sleeping aid, and my plea to my own brain to let him into my dreams. “What does that mean? Was it the alcohol? Jackson? God, am I using him to replace—”
“Stop.” Sam’s hand covered mine. “It means that you went a night without watching the video. Stop analyzing why you took the step and just be happy that you did. Be happy that you can sleep without it.”
Sure, if I’m drunk and have Jackson’s arms around me. The second part of that recipe was easy enough to remedy. Either way, I’d done it.
“I slept without the video.” I smiled as a chunk of weight lifted from my chest, and I took a full, deep breath.
“You slept without the video.” Sam squeezed my hand.
All night. In Jackson’s arms— “Oh God, what time did he leave?” Had he spent the entire night with me?
“I heard the door around six a.m.” She grinned as she reached for her coffee. “That man has it bad for you, Morgan Bartley.”
I scoffed. “After watching me beat the tar out of Will’s truck, then blasting him yesterday when his ex showed up and subsequently making him carry me home drunk and sleep next to me, I have a feeling the man is running just as fast as he can. Or he would be if he didn’t live next door.”
“You didn’t make that man do anything. He chose to be with you during all three of those…” She struggled for words.
“Tantrums?” I suggested.
“I was going to say outbursts, but you get the point.” She reached toward a small box at the end of the counter and brought it to me. “And besides, a man who’s running away isn’t leaving a woman gifts.”
“He left this for me?” I stared at the small white box in my hand as Morgan held out a folded piece of paper.
“And a note.” She waved the paper over the box. “And I’ve been waiting hours to know what’s in that, so read!”
Stunned, I put the box on the counter and unfolded the note. Jackson’s handwriting filled the page.
Morgan,
Fin helped me design this, so I hope you like it. This used to be a jar or a glass of some kind. All I know for certain is that it shattered at some point. It broke apart, then spent years in the waves and sand until it became something entirely new. No longer clear and sharp, but soft and opaque. When I saw this piece, it reminded me of you—beautiful, resilient, and unique. I don’t mourn what it used to be in its former life, because it’s precious to me exactly how it is now. I can’t imagine it ever having been more beautiful—even whole—but I also know that at the center, it’s still the same clear glass it always has been. The same glass, just made rare—not despite all its been through, but because of it.
—Jackson
My breath abandoned me, and a spark flared in my chest. Hope. It was hope.
“Well, what does it say?” Sam asked.
I handed her the note, then opened the little white box. It was a teardrop-shaped piece of turquoise sea glass a little bigger than a quarter, set in gold. My fingers trembled as I lifted it from box that bore Christina’s store’s logo on the inside of the lid. The chain was long—a necklace. A stunningly beautiful necklace.
“Oh. My. God.” Sam dragged out that last word. “I stand by my earlier comment. That man has it bad for you. And he could definitely teach Grayson a thing or two in the letter writing department because damn.”
“I told him he would have liked me better before…” I swallowed, then tried again. “He would have liked me better the way I was before Will died. You know, when I was all sharp-tongued and vivacious without the alcohol.”