Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
His lips part, and the blue of his eyes is briefly shadowed. He’s not someone who hides his emotions. They play out right there on his face for everyone to see. There’s something so real about him, but I still can’t put my finger on why he feels familiar.
“I heard you say that in my head a million times, but it never sounded so sweet.”
“What do you mean?”
His expression hardens, a tic in his jaw returning before he sucks in a breath. “It was in another lifetime. Forget it.” He goes for the bag, and as the crinkling fills the air, I release the handle, too stunned to move after that admission.
How can I leave when that’s been put out into the universe?
As if I can forget he said them . . .
As if I never heard him . . .
As if I’ve ever had something so beautifully devastating said to me before. The words lay heavy with longing between us. “I don’t know what that means.”
He looks at the bag, and even from where I stand, I can see him reading the message I left for him. He turns back to find me across the room. His chest is full from a deep breath. When he exhales, he says, “You don’t have to thank me for letting you stay.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I wasn’t going to leave you out in the cold.” He sounds so confident as if he’s never doubted how the night would turn out.
“So it wasn’t about the bears?”
“I know what we said, but hypothermia would get you first.” He glances at the bag again and then adds, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. I never doubted you. I was just . . .” What am I saying? Is it for him or me to walk away with a clean slate? I need to protect myself—professionally and personally—and my heart races from the sudden intimacy of the situation. “I don’t think we’re meant to be friends.”
“No,” he replies quick enough to hurt my feelings. “We couldn’t make it work the first time, so no use in prolonging the inevitable.”
“Why did you draw this?”
I should duck out of here and put some separation between us, move on with my life in a different direction from him. I don’t always make the wisest of choices. I take a step forward, wondering if I’m making a mistake by exposing a part of me that I keep hidden from most. Yes, that’s probably best, so I flip the script, aiming the spotlight in his direction. “I saw it on your chest earlier.”
“Did you think I’d have it removed?” His gaze trails to the floor, and I see the slightest shake of his head. “I kept it because it’s a symbol now.”
I cling to every syllable because this is the closest I’ve gotten to an explanation for my tattoo. “What does it symbolize?”
“The brokenhearted.”
“The brokenhearted?” I’ve never once thought it meant anything other than a greatness in life—a promotion, an accomplishment, even a romantic notion. But with the absence of what truly happened those two days in Austin, I suppose I’ll have to take his word for it. “I’ve never heard anything sadder in my life.”
“I have.” Hearing the certainty in his tone has me believing he has.
“I’m sorry.” I suddenly feel foolish standing so far from him in the middle of a conversation, but I’m sure it’s inappropriate for me to be here. So I suppose I need to take my own advice and let him have his night back.
I turn, this time opening the door. He says nothing, so I leave without another word. He’s right about one thing. It’s freezing tonight—he and the weather. It makes me wonder if he ever warms up to anybody or if it’s the particular hatred he holds especially for me.
Wrapping my arms around my chest, I hurry through the wind and trees. The lake catches my attention briefly, but it’s too cold out to admire. I hate the fear that zips through me from being alone out here. I felt safe in the main house even though there was tension.
After locking the door, I double-check the thermostat to make sure the heat is in fact on. It’s warm in here, but it’s good to make sure. Looks good, so I go about getting ready for bed. My phone is charged, so I send a message to Marina that I’m back on the property. I don’t expect a reply since it’s late, but I know she’ll appreciate knowing I’m safe in the morning.
With the lamp on, I climb under the covers fully dressed because the chill from the main house still lingers in my veins. I’m not sure why he’s gotten under my skin, but I can’t seem to stop replaying everything that happened tonight in my head. “What is it about him?” I mumble to myself.