The Things We Leave Unfinished Read Online Rebecca Yarros

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Chick Lit, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
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“About twenty times,” I assured him. “Have I told you that I’m going to do devious things to you with that tie you’re wearing tonight?” I looked up at him from under my lashes.

“Are you, now?” His eyes darkened. “And here I was making plans of my own.” He stole a kiss before I was pulled away again.

The night flew by, and before I knew it, I’d sold every piece I’d marked for sale. The ones for display, the crown and the tower pieces, stayed right where I wanted them—with me. The gallery slowly cleared out, until it was only my close friends and the cleanup crew.

“He gets major points for this,” Hazel said as she was getting ready to leave.

“Hey now,” I teased, hugging her goodbye. “Team Georgia, remember?”

“I am team Georgia,” she promised. “That man flew his family out to meet you. Your mom, too,” she finished quietly as Noah said goodbye to his sister.

Adrienne had already promised to come by for lunch the next day. She’d refused the guest bedroom, but Mom had agreed to stay with us tonight. She’d already taken her rental car to the bed and breakfast to fetch her things.

“I know. He’s…” I sighed, looking over at Noah.

“He’s just as much in love with you as you are him,” Hazel whispered.

“Don’t start.” I shook my head, refusing to set myself up for major heartbreak.

“I’ve never seen you as happy as you are tonight, as you have been for the last few months, actually.” She took my hand. “You’ve been through enough bad, G. You have to let the good in, too.”

She hugged me again before I could formulate an answer, then Owen tugged her out the door, mumbling something about them still having a babysitter for the next hour.

The house was dark and quiet when Noah and I got home, but Mom arrived just after we’d hung up our coats. Noah’s eyes drifted to my legs, bare under the short black dress I’d chosen from my recently unboxed stash.

“I’m going to head up and call Ian before bed,” Mom said with a sly smile, carrying her small bag even after Noah had offered to take it up for her. “You two don’t have too much fun. Happy birthday, Gigi.”

“Night, Mom.” I didn’t even cringe at the nickname, glancing over at the twenty-nine roses Gran had sent with a first edition, signed copy of The Sun Also Rises.

“It’s present time,” Noah said, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. “It might not be Hemingway, but you had me on a limited budget.”

I groaned. “You’ve already given me enough.”

“Trust me, you want this.”

I turned in his arms. “I want you.” If he actually knew how badly, he probably would have run screaming from the house.

He kissed my forehead and took my hand, leading me into the formal living room where he’d pitched his writing skills just a few short months ago. The furniture had been pushed to the side, opening the space, and he’d brought the tall foyer table in to hold a medium, beribboned box off to the side of the fireplace, which he turned on with the flip of a switch.

“Gran added that in the remodel.” I nodded toward the gas fireplace. “Said it was a foolish, lavish expense, but she didn’t care.”

“Well, thank you, Gran.” Noah shrugged out of his suit coat and laid it over the wingback chair, which sat opposite the box. “Now, open your present, Georgia.” He leaned his shoulder against the fireplace mantel and crossed one ankle over the other.

“The present that didn’t cost you anything.” I arched a brow.

“Not a penny.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Well, I paid for the box. And the bow. Honestly, it was just something I happened to stumble upon while locating my shoes.”

I rolled my eyes but walked over to the box, looking for an opening. “Did you tape it shut?” I teased.

“Nope. Just lift.” There was so much excitement in his eyes that I couldn’t help but feel it rub off on me.

I gripped the sides of the box and lifted. My heart leaped into my throat and tears stung my eyes. “Oh, Noah.”

He came forward and took the box from my trembling hands, but I was too busy staring at my gift to see where he put the wrapping. Then he was at my side.

“Is it…” I was almost afraid to say the words, content to let it be real, even if only in my mind.

“It is.” He nodded, his smile soft.

“But how?” I reached a shaky hand toward the vintage record player, running my fingers over the timeworn edge of the casing as it sat open on the table before me.

“I found a panel loose in the back of my closet at Grantham Cottage a couple of weeks ago,” he said, maneuvering the arm of the phonograph so it rested above a dustless record. “The same closet where the heights marked on the closet doorframe weren’t painted over like the rest of the house.”


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