Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
“I feel I’ve failed after surviving multiple, attempted fake hauntings to communicate to you I’m made of some stern stuff,” I joked.
“That hasn’t escaped me. But our motto is eyes open, no?”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Multiple, attempted fake hauntings aside, this is our idyll. One of the reasons why I wanted you to stay here with me. When real life intrudes, things will be much different. Far more challenging.”
“I’m not the type to get addicted to that kind of attention, Ian.”
“I don’t think you are. I think you’re the type to get sick of it.”
Dear Lord.
Was he sharing vulnerability?
Even insecurity?
Only Ian could make that attractive.
“How about, with eyes open, we just be in this without worrying about what might become of it? Whatever that is will happen, no matter how hard we try to shape it,” I suggested.
He looked away, took a sip of his stout, and murmured, “She’s wise, along with gorgeous, humorous, and achingly loving.”
I pressed into him where I was settled in his side and teased, “Achingly loving?”
He was in no mood to be teased.
“You lay on the floor with Lou until the paramedics came, holding her hand and talking to her. I don’t know a single soul who would do that. And I’ll never forget witnessing it, Daphne. Not until the day I die.”
I stared up at him, throat closed.
“You come with baggage, yes,” he carried on. “But I’m profoundly aware I bring the same, and along with it an abiding inability to find my way around the rather imposing obstacle of living in complete fear that I’ll turn into my father.”
Well, goddamn.
One could say that was putting it out there.
“Honey—”
He shook his head. “No. It’s there. You need to know about it. I’ve had a lot of women. I’ve always ended it. Always, Daphne. And I hope you know with me being with you, I have exceptional taste.”
Yes.
Always saying the right thing.
“So there were many thrown away that a more adjusted man would have known better and kept,” he finished.
It was time to nip this in the bud.
“I appreciate this heartfelt honesty. It means everything, honey. Really everything. But what you’re not cyphering into this conversation is first, I’m a part of this equation, with free will and a brain in my head to make decisions for myself. And second, I’m making decisions based on the fact you haven’t hidden any of what you’re talking about. You’ve been what you promised you were. You aren’t leading me on. You aren’t hiding anything. It’s common knowledge that women want or really don’t want to grow up to be their mothers. The same with men. You’ve made it clear which way you swing. Attempting to observe this clinically, your awareness of it and ability to talk about it speaks volumes for you.”
“I haven’t run you off yet, although in a sense, I’ve tried. Perhaps it’s testing, though I hope it doesn’t feel that way, it doesn’t mean I haven’t been unconsciously doing it.”
“And again, you know yourself,” I pointed out.
He lifted his chin in acknowledgement of my words and carried on, “So prepare for this, I’ve never discussed any of this with another woman.”
“Oh,” I breathed.
“Yes,” he replied.
Wow.
That was big.
I grinned at him, clasped my hands in front of me and twisted his way, leaning against him and saying, “He likes me. He really, really likes me.”
He grinned back and said, “You’re a nitwit.”
I batted my eyelashes at him and returned, “Why, Lord Alcott, you say the sweetest things.”
He kept grinning and urged, “Drink up. Mum’s very aware of my age, but she’s still my mum. The roads are winding and dark. She doesn’t like us driving them at night. The sooner we’re home, the sooner she can stop worrying.”
I took up my cider again, noting, “You’re a very good son.”
“She needs one decent man in her life,” he murmured, taking a sip of his own drink.
But in taking mine, I watched him, struck to my core in learning something new about this man.
Mr. Honesty, Self-Own, Say the Right Thing, Thoughtfulness Personified Ian was all of this for his mother.
She had a husband with a wandering eye and a younger son who was about as deep as a bowl of water.
Ian filled in the gaps.
So yes, damnit, I was falling for him.
And even though we’d shared a lot in a short period of time, we were still very new…
But I didn’t mind in the slightest.
Twenty-Six
THE DREAM
That day the wind was more like a breeze.
The sun was out.
At long last, winter had passed.
The warmth thawed the bones.
It was spring.
I heard children’s laughter, and I turned my head from gazing at the moors.
He was there with them frolicking about him, on his back on the blanket, the detritus of our picnic littering the wool, our youngest gurgling and giggling as he tossed him in the air and caught him.