Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
“I was just telling David that I’m in love with this country. I can forgive the Brits calling cookies biscuits with views like this.”
Roman leaned against my shoulder to peer at the endless swath of rolling green hills dotted with sheep. “It’s very pretty, isn’t it?”
“Very.” I nibbled a chocolate chip shortbread biscuit and offered him one.
He declined like the smart man he was and sipped his coffee instead. “Between our pastry breakfast and the caramel pudding at dinner last night, I think I’ve had my quota of sweets for a while.”
“Amateur,” I teased.
“It’s better that way.” He chuckled, stifling a yawn.
“Are you tired?”
“A little. We’ve been busy.”
True statement.
As tempting as it was to spend every free minute naked in his big yummy bed, Roman insisted on showing me some of his favorite parts of London. We’d been on a whirlwind schedule filled with museums, castles, cathedrals, and long walks in beautiful parks. We’d climbed the five hundred and twenty-eight narrow steps to the top of St. Paul’s, trudged through the rain to tour the Tower of London, visited Southwark Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, eaten fish and chips in Camden Town, strolled Regent Street and Hyde Park…I even convinced him to ride the London Eye with me.
And on a whim, he decided I had to see the Roman ruins in Bath too.
He’d booked first-class train tickets, a room at a bougie spa hotel, and dinner reservations at a fancy restaurant with a world-famous chef. It might easily have been the best twenty-four hours of my life. No joke. I felt like a character in a romance novel…like this couldn’t be real. Cobblestone streets, beautiful Georgian buildings, pristine gardens with tulips that reached my knees.
We’d popped into shops, walked along the waterfront, and explored the hodgepodge of charming alleyways as we made up stories about lords and ladies, and pirates and rogues who’d walked these same streets hundreds of years ago. Roman’s fanciful side was a sweet surprise. I liked knowing he was comfortable enough with me to be himself. And that he trusted me.
Of course, I insisted on taking selfies everywhere we went. This was going to be over soon, and I had to record it somehow. When I was home again, working sixty-hour weeks, dodging calls from my ex, and numbing loneliness with margarita infusions and Netflix binges, I wanted to remember him.
I just wasn’t ready to think about leaving yet. I’d rearranged my schedule to stay another week, but I couldn’t postpone reality forever. I had a life on the other side of the world. A job, a condo, a cat, friends…
But Roman was here. And the thought of losing him now hurt more than I could say.
We didn’t talk about it, but I knew he felt the same. It was in the way he looked at me, the absent touches and soft smiles. He spoke and laughed as if he’d cut himself open and pulled out secret pieces to show me. He held nothing back. He showed me his life, bared his scars, introduced me to his friends, and took me to his favorite places. I was greedy. Dating-app messaging wasn’t going to cut it.
I couldn’t suggest a long-distance relationship to a man who’d been burned badly by one. And I couldn’t suggest he take a chance on me when I was an abject failure at relationships.
So was this the end?
I inhaled deeply and released a shaky breath. I stared out the window and shook off maudlin thoughts before they took hold with a somewhat annoying yet effective method.
“Would you rather always be ten minutes late or twenty minutes early?”
Roman’s wide smile slipped as he shifted to face me. He brushed the tear from the corner of my eye, then laced his fingers in mine. “Early. You?”
“Late for sure. Ten minutes is nothing,” I huffed with a bravado I didn’t feel by a long shot. “Treehouse or a cave?”
“Treehouse.”
“Same.”
“Would you rather rewind your life or push pause?”
He lifted our joined hands to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Pause.”
“Me too,” I sniffed.
“Hey, don’t do that. We have a whole day and a whole night and—”
“I know.” I stared, unseeing, at the mother and daughter playing backgammon across the row. I didn’t meet his gaze until I trusted myself not to get emotional. “Are we meeting your friends tonight? Maxine mentioned it, and—”
“We don’t have to. They’ll understand.”
“No, it’s fine. One drink.”
Roman’s nostrils flared as he nodded. I wished I could read his thoughts right then. I would have given anything to know how to navigate the heartache I felt barreling my way.
I’d checked out of the hotel room last week and didn’t feel a smidge of guilt that the only time I’d slept in the bed was the afternoon siesta we took after we’d made love. Aka, the first time he’d let me top. It was a fabulous memory, but I preferred Roman’s deliciously ginormous bed with its soft sheets, fluffy duvet, and blackout blinds.