Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“But… you obviously had some pent-up concerns about me, about us… and… it uh, it came out today.” Her voice cracked, and she sounded as if she was about to cry.
“Were you scared to fall in love again?” He took a deep, calm breath and leaned against the wall of a lobster roll eatery, not yet open for the day.
“No, I wasn’t scared to fall in love, Nikolai. I’m not afraid to love you at all. You’re the easy part… You’re so easy to love. With all of your layers, complexities, then the simplicity of how you love is a beautiful, rare thing. All of your hidden emotions are coming out, more as time goes on. I don’t want you to have to get angry though, just for you to tell me how you feel.”
“Fair enough. I’ll try to work on that.” He lightly fingered a tendril of hair back into place as the wind kicked up steam.
“You know, I wrote down on a piece of paper sometime back that when I began dating again, there was a specific type of man I wanted.” Wow. I did the same thing. Wrote down what I wanted in a wife. “I folded it up and tucked it in my wallet. Didn’t look at it for years. When I opened it up recently and read it, it described you…”
“Porsche, you have no idea how much you mean to me… I’m… I’m tryin’ here.” He threw up his hand. “You’re a priority. I want you to understand that. God. My future wife and children. My extended family. Friends. Then work. As long as that’s the order, I’m always going to be easy to love. You let me be quiet when I don’t wanna talk. You accept my sense of humor—sometimes corny, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes risqué.”
“Perverted. Don’t try to dress it up with nice sounding words. You’re just plain nasty. You have such a dirty mind!”
“Okay, a lot risqué…”
She gave a light laugh.
“I don’t wanna waste a bunch of time trying to convince you that I’m not going to hurt you,” he continued. “I love the hell outta you. Everything about us just fits. It makes sense. We like so many of the same things. We have similar morals and interests, and we’re compatible. The sex is amazing. These past three months have changed my life. I don’t ever wanna lose you, so what can I do to make it better? I hate arguing with you, and this is our first time doing that. I know that couples fight sometimes, to think that we won’t on occasion is silly, but I don’t like to hear you cry, Porsche. It messes me up. I don’t want to be the cause of any tears that run down your face.”
“You’re not. I’ve just suffered a great loss, and so have you. I have finally connected with someone who gets me, too. You don’t get angry when I have to work long hours. You’re patient. You don’t try to put me in a so-called woman’s place, or try to force me into a box, make me someone I’m not and was never intended to be. You just love me. That’s it. You’re doing everything right, honey. I’m not scared to love you. I’m scared NOT to—because the thought of all of this magic ending, this incredible connection and chemistry we have, being snatched away, well, that would crush me. You’ve got my heart in a chokehold, and I never want you to let it go…”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Porsche switched on the sunshine yellow desk lamp and a stream of bright light shone on her messy home office desk. It was 5:42 A.M. and the sun had not yet dared to rise. She also had yet to sleep. She felt so close to something juicy, she could practically taste it. Her blood pumped hard, and her brain was calculating a million scenarios. She’d spent the last few days going over witness statements and explicit crime scene photographs, as well as graphic autopsy pictures. Mostly, she was drowning in the Old Orchard Beach case, refusing to come up for air until she could find a morsel of hope.
She started up her computer and opened her email after receiving an alert on her phone that she had correspondence from Dr. Martha Dwight. CC’ed to Dr. Carmine. Chewing on her pointer fingernail, she rocked about in her seat as she opened the email and selected to download the attachment. It was a rather large zip file, filled with several records and medical pictures. This is going to take a second.
She drummed her fingers against her desk, then grabbed her mug and eagerly downed her second cup of hot coffee while Ella Mai’s, ‘Power of a Woman’ beat on from her computer playlist. The bass from her new speakers matched with waves of excitement that filled her like a vessel. The music vibrated and throbbed within her as she thumbed through countless stacks of documents and binders, turning to the pages she needed.