Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“We could always eat on the floor. Picnic style.”
She brightens. “That’s a good idea. A picnic. But I insist on doing it outside. We might get eaten alive by bugs, but I could justify it if we’re eating on a blanket. I’d feel terrible if we had to eat on the floor.”
I was about to suggest we eat on the new-to-her leather couch in the living room—the leather couch we had to spend a good forty minutes trying to figure out just how to get through the doorway because it was the wide and comfy variety, and the doorway was the no-go variety—but I swallow whatever I was about to say. Sitting out on a blanket in the late evening sunshine on the new fresh grass, breathing in the country air, and staring up at a summer sky? Yeah, that’s way better. Sitting next to Victoria and sharing a blanket in an utterly romantic setting? Double yeah. My cock is in total agreement with that. I mean my brain. Okay, maybe it’s both.
“A picnic. Yeah, great idea. What can I do to help?”
“I think you’ve done more than enough today. I realize people use that in a negative way most of the time, but I mean it totally positively. You’ve made this place into a dream house, and you busted your buns all day moving stuff in for me when you no doubt had better things you could be doing. You can’t help me make your thank you meal.”
“Alright,” I relent with a laugh.
Part of me is still marveling at how Victoria doesn’t seem to understand that I’m interested in her. I think I’ve made it clear that I am. Granny pretty much outed me in the restaurant yesterday, and still, Victoria seems to doubt not only the fact that I’m interested but also her own inherent attractiveness and desirability. No, that’s not exactly right. I don’t know. She seems to be very skeptical about the fact that I would be interested. I don’t know if she hasn’t received a lot of attention in the past, or maybe she’s just shy. I think, based on what she’s said, she might not believe in herself because other people—people like her parents—haven’t believed in her. She does believe she can write, and she does want to do that. At least she gets pretty passionate about it, and it’s great to see her get so animated about literature, but what other doubts might she harbor? I don’t know her well enough to guess. Maybe I’m just filling in the blanks all wrong here and making assumptions. Maybe she’s just not interested.
The thought of that stings. But maybe I need to clearly state my case. I haven’t been obvious about it, and coming from Granny, who was joking around quite a bit, Victoria might not really get it. And if she wants to tell me to take a hike, then that’s more than her right. It’s okay for her not to be interested. I’m still glad I fixed her house, and I won’t forget the antique shop or the lunch with her and Granny. I’ll just…I don’t know…wither up and die a little on the inside and be more than a tad ultra-wrecked, but that’s my problem, and I’ll deal with it like a big boy wearing big boy pants.
Victoria is already hard at work prepping food, and since I don’t know what else to do, I wander off to sit on the couch I was thinking about earlier.
I park my ass and wait, trying not to be anxious, but my brain is racing.
How should I tell her what I feel? I’ve only been in her life—compliments of her house—for just over a week. Can that justify my level of feelings for her? If I downplay them, will she still not understand? Should I downplay them because I’m being too intense? Is the level of attraction I feel actually normal? I’m not just attracted to her body. I’m definitely attracted to her brain and kindness, the quiet calm that she has. In a world of people blabbing and flapping, she’s like a mellow duck who just sits on the water and churns underneath because she’s contemplating and thinking on the inside. She’s physically beautiful, but her mind is her real beauty, and I feel like I’ve only just done the iceberg thing and seen the tip of it.
Should I tell her?
Should I kiss her?
Should I just brush her hand?
I sink further into the couch’s soft leather cushioning as my stomach rolls, half with hunger and half with nerves.
Even if I can tell Victoria how I feel, and she feels the same, there’s still the fact that I’m lying to her about everything. How will she ever trust me when I finally tell her the truth?