Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I managed a wobbly smile. He didn’t have to say anything else. I’d gotten all the reassurance I needed.
“We’ll get there,” I managed to say.
“I pray you’re right.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead to mine. “I’ll keep fighting.”
“And I’ll be right next to you.”
Chapter 17
“They’re judging me, aren’t they?” Shan muttered. “They’re thinking, look at that Irish degenerate wearing sweatpants outside.”
I crammed another cracker with blue cheese into my mouth and eyed the cows in the field across the dirt road. “Yeah, probably. I’ve heard cows are known to be generally judgmental.”
I thought I deserved some credit for dressing like him in solidarity. Sweats, tees, hoodies, sneakers.
Shan snorted softly.
I refilled his wine as a breeze caused the leaves to rustle in the tree above us. Fall was right around the corner. “You’re not driving, so you’re obligated to drink for the both of us.”
Not that I hadn’t already emptied half a bottle myself…
Our five days in the Bordeaux region could’ve gone better, but they also could’ve been a lot worse. Instead of going wine tasting and sight-seeing, we’d found dirt roads trailing along the edges of vineyards and orchards. Instead of losing hours in restaurants and bistros, we’d hit up local markets and stocked the car with picnic foods and one or seven bottles of wine.
Twelve. Twelve bottles of wine.
I was on my third wedge of Saint Agur blue cheese too.
Weirdly, one of my fondest memories from Bordeaux was the last afternoon there. We’d trailed into a truck stop, tired and dressed like the hoodlums we were now, where they had a bunch of tourist shops and fast-food places, and we’d ended up doing more than replacing the picnic blanket we’d accidentally left behind somewhere. Shan had fucking devoured two Big Macs and a large Coke, and I had bought…gas station flip-flops.
In my defense, it was convenient to just slip my feet into them when I ran between the SUV and whatever spot we’d chosen for a picnic.
Last but not least, we’d bought a shitload of cheap souvenirs for our family.
I smirked to myself and threw a couple grapes into my mouth.
“Something funny?” Shan leaned back, planting his hands behind him.
“I was just thinking we spent less than a hundred bucks on souvenirs for basically everyone we love at home, and then we dropped an unspeakable amount on two coffee cups and two saucers in Limoges.”
Shan chuckled.
I’d been prepared to skip Limoges altogether. He’d been so damn down, spending most hours sleeping in the back of the SUV. But he’d forced himself, saying he’d regret it if he didn’t go into a certain china shop.
He raked his teeth over his bottom lip and averted his gaze for a beat, studying the thick grass around the blanket. “I’m sure you remember when I told you I was developing an unhealthy attachment to you.”
How could I forget.
“I remember.”
He released a long breath and looked back to me. “It was something specific that pulled me away from the notion that the attachment was unhealthy. Something you did.” Did he want me to guess? “I didn’t notice it at first, only that I found myself following you to the kitchen.”
I felt my forehead wrinkle.
“When you made coffee,” he elaborated with a wry twist of his lips. “I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why I felt it was so fascinating to be in the same room as you when you prepared a cup. But I kept watching, and I kept analyzing my behavior…until I realized it was attraction.” He leaned forward again and brushed some grass off his hands. “It was such a simple, insignificant part of your day. It wasn’t you getting out of the shower or anything lewd—it wasn’t even when you held me and comforted me. You were just making a cup of coffee.” His smile turned warmer. “I was attracted. My feelings were changing—and had been doing so for some time. And it was terrifying at first, because an unhealthy attachment was easier to explain. There are ways to deal with that.”
A slow grin stretched across my face, and I shook my head. “You’re weird.”
He let out a laugh. “Yes, well. Shortly before our trip, I remembered thinking that I wanted something like that one day. I wanted normalcy, love, and an everyday life shared with someone. Making coffee together in the morning, passing the newspaper back and forth, discussing dinner plans.” He cleared his throat. “And I couldn’t see anyone but you in those visions.”
I bet that had terrified him too.
“That’s why I wanted those coffee cups in Limoges,” he admitted. “Specifically those—and only two of them. What I can’t promise you with words, I want to show you. This is very much real for me.”
My throat closed up, and I couldn’t form a single fucking word. So I abandoned my paper plate with crackers and cheese, and I crawled up on his lap and kissed him.