Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
So then why the hell does her turning me down feel like it’s not for the best?
Fuck.
CHAPTER THREE
AUBREE
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lacey smacks my arm and glares. “That man was hot with a capital H and wanted to take you out.”
“I’m not read—” I begin, but the look in Lacey’s eyes has me closing my mouth without finishing my thought.
“Bree…” She sighs. “You know I love you, right?”
I nod, mentally preparing for what she’s about to say, knowing she won’t hold back. She never does.
“It’s been almost five years since you lost Peter, babe. And since then, I’ve watched you be both mom and dad to Miles and Evie, giving them damn near every ounce of you. And then, after Grandma Violet passed away, the little bit of you that was left went into this coffeehouse.”
“That’s because I’m all they have,” I point out on the defense. “And this coffeehouse…” I wave my hand around to emphasize my point. “It’s what pays the bills, keeps my kids’ bellies fed, and a roof over our head. Pete is gone, my grandma is gone… All I have is me. My kids depend on me.”
“And I get that,” she says softly, “but at what point are you going to live for yourself? Get out there and date again?”
“I did date.”
“You went on one date,” she says, hitting me with a pointed look. “Two years ago.”
“And it sucked.” I pout, remembering how badly the date went.
“It was one date,” she repeats. “And then you gave up. What’s the point of any of this”—she waves her hand in the air—“if you’re not happy? If you’re merely going through the motions instead of actually living?”
“I am happy,” I mutter.
Lacey pulls out her phone and taps away on it, and a few seconds later, she turns it around. And the image—the two smiling faces—on display, damn near has me stumbling back.
“This is you happy.” She taps on the screen with her manicured nail. “When you were with Peter, you were happy. You were in love. Now, you’re just existing. And as your best friend, I hate that for you.”
As I stare at the picture, missing my husband something fierce, raw emotion clogs my throat, and I know she’s right. I haven’t been living. “I miss him,” I whisper, wishing I could pull him out of that photo, wrap my arms around him, and seek comfort in his warm embrace. I try so hard to pick up the slack, to make up for being my children’s only parent, but I’m tired. I miss having a partner, someone to be by my side, to hold me and kiss me and love me. I’m mentally exhausted and emotionally drained. But more than that, I’m lonely.
“I know you do,” Lacey says, pocketing her phone and pulling me into a hug as tears fill my lids and slide down my cheeks. “But he didn’t want this for you. He told you that himself. He wants you to find love.”
I sigh into her hold. “Okay.”
“Okay?” She pulls back and looks at me curiously as I swipe the tears off my face.
“Yeah, the next guy who asks me out, I’ll say yes.” It’ll be hard to move forward, but I have to start somewhere because I don’t want to feel like this forever.
A triumphant grin spreads across her face. “Oh, Bree, I am so holding you to that.”
I roll my eyes, hiding how nervous the thought of actually going on a date makes me. “Whatever.”
“Sam and I are going out to Le Petit tonight,” she says, changing the subject. “You should join us.”
As much as I appreciate the invite, the last thing I want to do is get dressed up, so I can play the third wheel on her romantic date with her husband because my best friend loves me and doesn’t want me to be alone.
“I appreciate it, but I think I’m going home to soak in the tub, crack open a bottle of wine, and finish reading my book.”
“Oh, look at you,” she mocks. “Living on the edge.”
CHAPTER FOUR
BRODY
“Damn, what’s this brownie laced with? I can’t stop eating it.” I shove another bite into my mouth and wash it down with a sip of the equally delicious coffee—rich and creamy, strong but not too bitter. Sweet but not overly so… perfect.
“Wouldn’t doubt it,” Hayden, my roommate and best friend, mutters. “How the hell am I supposed to convince the owner that she needs to let us buy out her lease, which will mean closing down her coffeehouse, when she makes shit as good as this?”
He pops a piece of brownie into his mouth. “And you should’ve seen her.” He groans and drops backward, looking up at the ceiling. “Gorgeous and sweet. Blond hair and blue eyes. Dimples, bro.” His eyes lock with mine. “She’s beautiful and sexy and fucking adorable all at the same time.”