Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
A task! Yes. I’m good with tasks. I wasn’t sure what was about to happen. Opening a bottle of wine together isn’t exactly something we’ve done in the past. Ever since he got home tonight, there’s been a marked difference between us. The charged energy that has always existed on a low thrum is now positively electric. I’m on edge, nervous. His every move, every breath seems to bring with it the hope of something just on the horizon.
Or…maybe I just need more wine.
I’ve downed half my glass by the time we make it back to the kitchen. “Mind if I top this off?”
He points to the bottle on the counter. “Be my guest.”
He heads over to the junk drawer to dig around for something. A second later, he pulls out a Sharpie and a scratch piece of paper. Once he confirms the marker still has ink, he takes it over to the table where he’s placed the bulging duffle bag.
“You’re a trooper for going through with this.”
I top off my glass and watch him start to pull items out of the bag, sign them, then set them aside. I catch on to his system quick enough and come to stand beside him so I can make his task slightly more efficient. We work diligently through a few t-shirts then he pauses to take a sip of wine, and I do the same.
We’re close in a way we’ve had very few chances to be since I first took this job working for him. There’ve been so few reasons to linger next to each other like this—short of his heroic efforts the day I sliced my finger, that is, though even that was more out of duty than anything else.
Does he realize how intimate this feels? My shoulder accidentally bumping his as I reach for a hat…his aftershave so distinct in the air I catch a whiff of it with every inhale…
Maybe the wine is starting to go to my head a little bit because I can’t help but meet the challenge when his brown eyes come to rest on me. Is he aware of how diligently I’ve been watching him? Is he annoyed by it? Or…
“You like it?” he asks, referring to the wine.
“Love it.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“I bet it’s staining my lips burgundy.”
Luke’s Adam’s apple bobs as he looks down at my mouth and swallows hard.
Real subtle, Chloe.
I set down my glass and reach for another shirt, busying myself with folding it neatly so Luke knows right where to sign it. “So it sounds like the end of your trip went well…”
He takes the shirt from me and scrawls his signature. The first letters of his first and last name are distinct and iconic, but the rest is almost illegible. I’m sure he’s done it on purpose. He probably doesn’t have time to sit there and pen a perfect name when all his rabid fans are demanding attention.
“Mm, yeah, I’m glad we went down there. We were able to spend a lot of time with my parents, and Nadine’s dad came over a few times. He’s getting up there in years, but I know he enjoyed seeing Harper. What about your trip?”
“Oh, you know…you’ve met my family over FaceTime. It was a lot. A week is about all I can handle.”
“Did you go out? See friends?”
“I met a girl for coffee, Katie. She and I graduated culinary school together before we branched off for our specialties.”
He hums, almost like he’s slightly annoyed.
Then he takes another shirt out of my hand and says, point-blank, “Sounds like maybe you’re back with Miles?”
I sputter trying to rush out my reply as quickly as possible. “No—the opposite.” Is that what he thinks? “I would be okay if I never had to see him again as long as I live. I did run into him. You probably heard that—we were on the phone when I saw him on the street.”
His jaw tightens, like he’s grinding his molars to keep from saying something.
“I didn’t seek him out or anything. The jewelry store where I found Harper’s gift was right around the corner from my old job. I was mildly curious about the state of the restaurant so for a second, I thought it might be fun to walk by it. Miles happened to be arriving for work.” I turn to face him, too curious to squelch my next question even though it’s slightly more direct than I usually am. “Is that why you hung up? You thought I got back together with my ex-boyfriend?”
He takes his time answering. He licks his bottom lip, caps his Sharpie, then leans his fisted hands down on the table and lets his head hang for a minute. He’s studying some indeterminable spot on the wood as he says, “No. I didn’t answer, and I didn’t call you back…” He straightens back to standing and turns to face me fully. We’re almost chest to chest now because neither one of us is stepping back. I crane my neck to look up at him just as he finishes, “Because I told myself I couldn’t.”