Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
“That can’t be the only reason.”
He laughs softly. “Honestly? I got tired of the life out there in LA. Everything was so impersonal and superficial. The people are phony. I enjoyed the work, but it was all just getting to be too much. I like this slower pace of life. I like being able to have personal relationships with my patients. And I guess I wanted to do something a little more meaningful,” he says. “For the most part, I’m enjoying life and the people here. Yeah, there are things I miss—I’d kill for a decent fucking sushi bar or some diversity of food choices. But there is a lot less bullshit in a place like Emerson, and I like it that way. It’s a change I didn’t even know I wanted to make until Dr. Pelson invited me out here to take a look.”
“It’s funny. I could have gone to school locally. I had an offer from Tennessee, but I wanted to get away from the slow, sleepy town. I went to LA because I needed a new experience.”
“That makes sense. And I think we should all challenge ourselves and experience new things,” he says.
“I think so too.”
He looks down at me, a small smile playing across his lips. “So, is there anybody waiting for you back in LA? I mean, I probably should have asked before we started sleeping together, but better late than never, I suppose.”
“Nope. Not anymore,” I tell him with a laugh. “We broke up before I came out here.”
“Why is that?”
“Because he was horrible. He’s abusive—”
Ethan immediately stiffens and his face darkens, the thought of somebody abusing me obviously pissing him off. It’s sweet and only reinforces the belief that I’m safe with him. But I know I need to correct my statement.
“He was mentally abusive. He never physically harmed me,” I say. “There were a couple of times I was worried that he might, but he never did. He was just … mean.”
“Mental abuse is just as bad as him laying hands on you. Either is unacceptable.”
“Well, he and I are done. I told him before I left that we were done.”
“And how’d he take it?”
“Not well. But whatever,” I say with a small shrug. “What about you? Anybody out here that’s piqued your interest?”
“Aside from you?”
My face grows warm, and a silly giggle passes my lips, which only embarrasses me more, forcing me to turn away. Ethan puts his fingers under my chin and turns me back to him then leans down and gives me a small, sweet kiss. He leans back on the couch and pulls me back down, resting my head on his chest again. It’s such a sweet, almost domestic scene, and I like it. I like it far more than I probably should, given our shelf life.
“To answer your question, no,” he says. “There isn’t anybody I’m seeing out here.”
“My grandmother says Hannah the dressmaker has been trying to bag you since the day you moved to Emerson.”
“True. But I’m not interested in her.”
“And why is that? She’s a beautiful woman.”
“She’s not you,” he says.
His words send a ripple of emotion through my heart and make my face grow warm again. It’s insane just how much this man can inspire so much emotion in me with nothing but a few words. We sit in comfortable, companionable silence for a couple of minutes, and I nuzzle closer to him, relishing the mélange of emotions coursing through me.
“I have a son,” Ethan says suddenly. “He’s about your age.”
It’s a little surprising, but maybe it shouldn’t be. Ethan’s twice my age and has lived a whole life before he even met me.
“Where is he now?” I ask.
“Last I heard, he was in California. But that was a while ago, so he could be anywhere. We haven’t talked in a long time,” Ethan says. “He blamed me for a lot of things, and our relationship just deteriorated. Well, maybe that’s being generous. We haven’t had a relationship in a long time. He hates me so much he even dropped my name. Legally. I’ve tried to contact him, but he doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I’ve let him be.”
Talking about his son makes him uncomfortable. More than that, I can hear the pain in Ethan’s voice when he talks about him. He regrets not having a relationship with his son. It’s a source of hurt for him, even still. It makes me hurt for him.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
It’s lame and wholly inadequate. But I can’t think of anything better to say. There’s certainly nothing I can say that will ameliorate his pain in any way whatsoever.
“So, you’re a writer?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Freelance writer and editor, yeah,” I reply. “I hope one day to be a bestselling author.”
He smiles. “Yeah?”