Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Dean appears to swallow a whole monologue he was about to deliver before he finally concedes with a nod. “But,” he says with a lift of his own fork, “if that boy proves too much trouble after all and you need a third slot filled on the fly, I am happy to connect you with at least four other eligible bachelors. Say the word. Good men, very good men, four of them. Maybe five if Josiah and his lady friend finally break up. It’s inevitable, the two are always at each other’s—”
“You can have my husband,” cuts in Mindy, who apparently finished her own thing and has been listening. “Joel’s been totally useless lately with the kids. He stubbed his little toe the other day on the leg of the coffee table, you’d think he lopped off a limb and was gushing blood everywhere. Like, am I raising three screaming children or two? I don’t even know.”
“Sometimes a stubbed toe sure can feel like a lopped off limb,” murmurs Dean with an endearing smile, “with or without blood.”
I glance over at Cole.
He’s frozen up.
“I didn’t see any gushing blood,” says Mindy flippantly after taking a sip of her sweet tea. “Just gushing tears. I mean, if he had lost a toe and was gushing blood everywhere, at this point I’m not sure whether I’d be more upset at my husband losing a toe than I’d be at the mess it’d make on our carpet, know what I mean? It’s all I do all day long, cleaning up messes. Blood isn’t in my skillset, and with these dang kids concerned, I hope it never is.”
“All this blood talk is making me regret getting medium rare,” teases Dean, poking his steak with a knife. “I mean, look at all this. The cow’s practically still alive.”
Nadine cackles at that. “Oh, Dean, bless your heart …”
Cole abruptly rises from his chair so fast, utensils rattle. The whole table looks his way.
He notices the attention he just earned, then quickly laughs it off. “Uh … S-Sorry, guys, I … um … got a call from home. I’m gonna take it really quick. I’ll … uh, I’ll be right back. Super, super quick, promise.” He trips over his chair as he scurries off with his phone in hand, quickly making his way down the aisles of tables, gone.
The conversation carries on at the table, but my focus is on the door of the restaurant as it slowly shuts after Cole’s departure. I stare at it, my foot bouncing in place under the table. Mindy goes on about her crazy kids. Nadine laughs again at something Dean says, but I suddenly can’t be less invested in the table chat.
I know why Cole just abruptly left.
I also suspect I’m the only one here who does.
I quietly get up from my chair. “Um, sorry, excuse me,” I say, though no one hears me, then squeeze behind Nadine to let myself out of the corner. I apologize when I almost trip over someone’s foot as I navigate awkwardly through the aisles of the restaurant. “Sorry,” I keep saying over and over. “Excuse me. I just need to—oops, sorry, thanks, I’m sorry, squeezing by, excuse me.”
I make it through the door with all my limbs. It’s already dark. The street is silent, just the muffled murmur of the restaurant behind me. The evening air feels completely still, like it’s waiting for something to happen, breath held in anticipation. I look down the road one way and see the Spruce park in the distance beyond the storefronts, dark and uninhabited, a typical Monday.
I look the other way and find Cole sitting on the curb next to a parked truck, staring blankly at his phone.
And now I’m looking at him.
Really looking at him.
Something about his morose, vulnerable pose has struck me.
His calmness. His contemplativeness. His solitude.
He really does look like a displaced demigod, hidden away in this town, with an unknowable story that stretches deep into a dark and protected past. A young man of many mysteries. Alone in the world in so many ways. Looking for a place to truly belong, no hope in his heart that such a place can possibly exist.
I realize I’m likely projecting a lot of myself onto him.
My own aloofness.
My own sense of craving a place to belong.
But there’s something beautiful about the way I find him here, alone with his thoughts and fears, as stripped down as he can be while still wearing all his clothes.
The literal gems that artists mine for in their day-to-day lives.
My heart stirs, but not for the reason of thinking about the way he kissed me or how he looks like in a Speedo.
Before I know it, I’ve pulled my phone out and lifted it to my face to take a picture. I attempt to fit Cole’s moment into a perfect, succinct frame, compelled to capture him precisely the way he is right now in this raw and genuine state.