Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“You’re watching the birds, aren’t you?” I asked.
“The bluejays won’t let the cardinals eat the peanuts.”
“The cardinals can eat out of the feeder,” I told him. “The jays are too big. Don’t feel too bad for the cardinals.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Samson is chasing the leaves.”
“He might not be the brightest dog, but he sure is entertaining,” I said.
“How long have you had him?” Atlas asked.
I felt myself tense. A knee-jerk reaction whenever anyone asked me about things that involved my past.
“A few years,” I told him. “He was the cutest puppy.” A tiny little bright spot in an otherwise dark period of my life. “A complete terror, but cute. He used to try to eat everything. He had this thing for socks. I used to have to keep all my laundry in a closed plastic container, or he would try to scarf them down.”
I used to live in fear that he would eat something that would cause an obstruction. And there would be no money for surgery. Then what? They’d put him down?
“You okay?” Atlas asked, brows pinched as he looked at me.
“Fine,” I said, forcing a smile as I tamped those memories down. “So, what do you want for dinner?” I asked.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been cooking nonstop for three weeks,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t you want a break? How about you take the night off?”
“We could do that,” I agreed.
I actually really loved to cook. I especially loved cooking for him. He was like a little kid each time you put a plate in front of him. Plowing in, gushing about it, demanding to know what was in it. He asked for seconds while complaining that he was gaining weight.
“I got an idea,” he said, eyes bright.
“That’s a mischievous look,” I said.
“How about we go out to eat?” he suggested.
I felt a little skipping in my heartbeat that I tried to ignore. It wasn’t the first time. Actually, I’d been having it a lot lately. I would have gone to see a doctor about it if I hadn’t realized it only ever happened around Atlas.
Like when his arms went around me when I helped him transfer. Like when we sat side-by-side on the couch, and his arm would brush me.
When he would call me ‘sweetheart.’
“We could do that,” I said, trying not to sound as excited as I felt.
We were closing in on a month of him being back in his house with me. But, somehow, I’d become even more reclusive than I’d been before. I didn’t even go food shopping much because he ordered delivery.
Aside from work, I spent all my time in the house.
While I actually kind of liked being holed up with Atlas, the idea of going out with him was even more exciting.
“I would normally say Famiglia,” he said.
“But all those steps,” I filled in for him, thinking of the big Italian place built on, like, stilts over the Navesink River. It was a gorgeous place I’d fantasized about visiting more than a few times since moving to the area, all the while knowing it was way out of my budget.
“Haven’t been around enough to know of anywhere else,” Atlas admitted.
“We could… drive around and pick a place,” I suggested.
“I like the way you think,” he declared. “Alright. Scoot me to the room. I’m gonna get into something decent.”
I actually liked him in his casual sleep pants and t-shirts.
Did I like it because the tees would sometimes cling to his midsection, and give me the view of abs under there? Or have the material bulge over his biceps?
I mean, I wasn’t proud of it, but yeah.
And as for the pants? Yeah, that part I was really, really not proud of. But, well, you know… sometimes if I would come out at night for a snack or a drink, or if I got up earlier than him, and he was sleeping and having, you know, happy dreams…
Ugh, I felt like a predator for even thinking that, let alone fantasizing about it.
I honestly had never really ever had much of a sex drive in the past, so I didn’t understand why I was suddenly thinking about Atlas in that way.
“Did I lose you?” Atlas asked, shooting me that sweet, boyish smirk.
“Nope. I was just thinking about what I should wear,” I said. And then I was thinking just that. Obsessing, in fact, about it. “You’re not wearing a suit, are you?” I asked.
“Don’t think I could fit one over my cast,” he said.
“Okay. Then I have stuff to wear,” I said, grabbing the back of his chair, and pushing him down the hall.
I wasn’t sure why he insisted on using the office chair in the house since his electric wheelchair was delivered two weeks before.
He used the wheelchair to go out with his family for doctor visits and whatnot. But in the house, he always used the office chair.