Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I’m so caught up in his story, I forget to think before I speak. “If she’s the reason you’re so Aiden-y,” I murmur, “she did a great job.”
A slight crease appears in between his brows, as if he doesn’t know whether I’m complimenting him or not. “Aiden-y?”
A flush creeps up the back of my neck. “Yes, you know. Nice. Honest. The kind of guy who gives an ex-convict a second chance and wears crocodile bow ties.” Seconds pass and he just goes right on looking at me, probably reading in between the lines of every breathless word out of my mouth and figuring out that I’ve developed a teeny-tiny crush on him. Itty bitty. Microscopic. Definitely not big enough to make every nerve ending in my body gravitate so quickly in his direction that I feel off balance leaning against this table right now.
Definitely not.
Being around Aiden is like…I’ve been wandering around in the dark and suddenly I’ve spotted a big, crackling campfire. Please don’t let any of this be showing on my face. “Is Edna responsible for the bow ties?”
He seems to be having trouble gathering his train of thought, taking a few seconds to drag his attention from me to the store laid out in front of him. “She is, yes. I was down in the dumps when I arrived in Tennessee. My father and his new wife needed some space to get acquainted back in New York—and I guess they just kept on needing it.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, none of the kids in my new school wanted to hang out with the ‘lanky yankee.’ That’s what they called me and I have to admit, it has a nice ring. Much more creative than Fiber Gummies Greg who sat behind me on the school bus. He had some digestive problems.”
A corner of his lip tugs and I watch it with such rapt attention, it’s embarrassing.
“Anyhow, Edna started putting me in a bow tie for school. She told me no one can be anything but happy while wearing a bow tie. I thought she was crazy, but I had nothing to lose. So I tried it and…the bow tie made me feel like someone else. It was a shield of sorts in the beginning. They weren’t making fun of me, they were making fun of some kid in a bow tie. And when that kid laughed along with them instead of skulking off, the outcome was a lot better. In a way, I guess the bow tie conditioned me to be a good sport.” He reaches up and tugs on his crocodiles absently. “All the time.”
What am I going to do with this heavy, uncomfortable object that seems to be sitting on my chest and pressing down harder by the moment? “Do you ever feel like ripping it off and going skulking again?”
“Sure I do,” he says, squinting over at me. “Today in the board meeting, for one.”
“Why?”
Aiden shrugs a big shoulder. “When I’m around my family, sometimes I forget to be grateful Edna raised me. Sometimes I can only focus on the fact that I was sent away for so long.”
I study the hard planes of his profile, the way his fingers seem jumpy where they hold the bottle. “It makes you feel guilty, doesn’t it? Being anything less than happy.”
He frowns over at me. It’s not a mean frown. It’s a thoughtful one and it gives him a different kind of appeal. Sexy and intense. A small section of hair loses its battle with gravity and flops onto the center of his forehead where lines have appeared. His total absorption in our conversation makes my skin heat, my tummy muscles performing a weird flex. Why? I think because…this is a man who pays attention. This is a man who doesn’t miss anything. Apparently after a life of constant variables, I’m attracted to that. To someone who doesn’t need to be told the sky is falling. He’s the one who has already built a shelter. “Yeah. I do, uh…” He clears his throat. “That’s what it is. I’m impatient and irritated around my family. And that makes me feel guilty.”
“You’re supposed to be better than that.”
“Right.” He nods. “Yes.”
“You are. But you can’t be better all the time. No one can, right?”
I take the bottle he offers, but I don’t drink from it. Instead, I twist the heavy glass base of the bottle on my thigh, just grateful to have something to do with my hands. I have this uncharacteristic urge to talk, to share with this man. Maybe because I sense he needs a distraction. Or a friend. I don’t know. But it’s so easy to open my mouth and speak. I fear nothing from him, especially judgment.
“I’ve been in New York just over a month. I needed to get used to the process of things again. Using money, getting change back—even that was weird. I did a lot of sitting on benches and watching people walk their dogs. And it’s such a chaotic place, New York. There are sirens and labor strikes and traffic congestion and delayed trains. But the chaos of it really highlights the good things, you know? Like two people meeting in the park. Two people out of a million. Just connecting paths in the center of buildings and avenues and so many other humans. On purpose, they connect. It seems like it should be impossible in a place so massive. If there wasn’t all this wild commotion around them, meeting in the park might not be so beautiful.” God, I’m rambling. My hand tries to wave everything I said off, but the bottle sloshes, so I stop and search for a way to make myself sound less fanciful and ridiculous. “All I’m saying is…maybe the positive power of the bow tie only has to extend so far. Maybe it’s okay to loosen it up once in a while and let yourself feel or express some bad stuff. It’ll only make the good that much more valuable.” I sigh. “Everyone’s got some yuck.”