Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“I’m thinking I should get to signing it. I just was hoping maybe we could meet up to go over a few minor details?” he asks as he brings his attention back to me.
I smile and nod my head, my hair falling back in front of my shoulders. “I’d be happy to,” I answer a little too eagerly. His eyes flash with something they shouldn’t, but I ignore it.
“Well, I should get going,” I say and the words rush out of my mouth.
“Me too,” Jacob says and looks back across the street. “My realtor is over there somewhere waiting on the steps to let me in to ‘my dream home,’” he says, mimicking what must be his realtor’s nasally voice, and then he gives me another view of his gorgeous smile.
“If you ever need anything, I’m always home or a call away,” I offer and then bite the inside of my cheek. What the hell was that?
“Sounds good. Be safe,” he says comically and then takes a few steps forward. “I’ll text you,” he says over his shoulder and I simply nod. Not able to speak, just standing there, gripping my purse strap with both hands and wondering why he gets to me so much.
I won’t deny that he does.
That’s not the part that bothers me.
It’s why. Is it him? The timing?
What is it about Jacob that makes me want him, when I haven’t lusted for a man other than my husband in years?
Evan
“Have you tried roses?”
My gaze moves from the cell phone in my hand to my father. With his arm braced against the wall, he taps his knuckles against the cream wall.
“I’m not sure roses are going to help,” I reply and give him a weak smile.
“You’d be surprised. Flowers are a girl’s best friend.”
A small but genuine smile graces my lips as I toss the phone onto the end table. “It’s diamonds, Pops. The saying is diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”
“Then get her diamonds,” he replies with a stern look before making his way to the worn, caramel-colored leather recliner in the corner of the living room. There’s a game on the TV. I’m not sure who’s playing since the volume is so low I can barely hear it.
“She still hasn’t messaged you back?” he asks.
“Nothing yet,” I answer lowly, not bothering to hide my disappointment, and then look back at the phone, wishing it would go off.
“You going back home to talk? Or what’s the plan?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I know she wants space; I just don’t know if it’s what’s best.”
From my periphery, I watch him nod and then he says, “It’s hard to know. Especially when she’s not talking to you.”
“I wouldn’t talk to me either,” I say, mostly out of the need to defend her. “I’d have kicked me out too.”
“It was a long time ago,” my father says, but there’s hardly any conviction in his voice.
It’s quiet for longer than I’d like. Both of us not knowing where to go in the conversation.
“I remember when you moved in with her,” Pops finally says and breaks the silence.
“It feels like forever ago. I hardly even remember what it was like before her.”
“Feels like it just happened to me. All the boxes and her wanting to paint first and then wanting everything in a specific order. She sure has a certain way of going about things.”
I lean my head back, staring at the ceiling fan as I say, “Yeah she does” with a hint of a smile on my lips. “She’s particular.”
“That’s one word for it,” Pops says back with a small laugh, the kind where I can feel his smile in the laugh, not missing a beat.
“You love her, though. Particular and all,” I remind him.
He nods his head. “I love her for it too.” He clears his throat and says, “I never told you this, but I felt like I’d lost your mother and then lost you.”
“Pops, no—” I try to stop that shit, but he’s already moved on before I can get a thought out.
“It was a short-lived feeling. Kat came over more than you did after the move, if you remember.”
“She’s the one who wanted the family dinners. I remember her pushing for that. Probably wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for her.”
“I think she was just trying to make things right.”
“I know she was. She’s a lot like your mother in that regard. You did good picking her.”
I can’t respond to my father. He’s never talked to me about Kat really. Now of all times, it’s just making the pain that much worse.
“You remember that heavy-ass dresser?” Pops asks me and it makes me huff a laugh as I nod. More than anything I’m thankful for the change in topic.
“She had to have it,” I say absently. “It was her mother’s.”