Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Outrage rips through his gaze at the same time he takes a step towards me. “You fucking with me right now?”
Did I just poke a bear?!
“You think I don’t want all that shit?! You think I want to escape the first real chance I’ve been given to be more than the homeless asshole the rest of the world spits on?!” Pain pierces his green stare, pushes me to move towards him. To get closer. To comfort him. “That’s the last fucking thing I want, Jaye.”
“Then why leave?”
“Because I don’t deserve that shit. I don’t deserve you.”
“I think you do.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Then stick around. Give me a chance to get to know you better.”
“Why?”
“Because I like you.”
“Why, Jaye? Why do you like me of all people?”
“Because you’re my person.” Awkward cringing is immediate. “Er…um…my kind of person.”
Despite his best efforts, I manage to see the smirk on his face.
“You listen when I talk. And you ask me things I wanna answer. And you tell me things I wanna know. And you make me laugh. And laughing…isn’t something I get to do much of outside of work and my dad and binging sitcoms. It’s nice to laugh with someone. And to just…be around someone that I want to be around.”
To my surprise, understanding immediately seeps into his stare.
“And maybe I know what it feels like to have the entire world look at you one way and just wish for one second, one person, would see you just once a little differently, too. Maybe that’s why whatever this is,” my hand casually gestures between us, “works.”
Archer quietly coos, “How could anyone see you for anything less than amazing, sweetheart?”
My face heats to the point I swear I’m going to sweat off my mascara, yet I force my eyes to stay locked on his. “Breakfast?”
His lips tighten.
“I’ll even let you help with the dishes this time.”
Archer reluctantly caves on a small chuckle. “Fine. But I’m doing all of them tonight after dinner.”
Excitement doesn’t bother hiding itself. “You’ll stay?”
“For one more night.”
Mmm…we’ll see about that.
“It’s probably best anyway. I get the feeling the woman next door will be looking for any way to prove you were lying last night.”
“But I wasn’t lying.” Folding my arms firmly across my chest, I plant a victorious smirk on my face. “You are my friend.”
“You don’t have to look so fucking smug about it.”
“Oh, except that I do.”
His laughter sparks my own further proving my point.
He belongs here.
Making me laugh.
Letting me make him.
Laughing together.
Even if we only end up as friends that’s still better than nothing.
Archer creeps back inside, encouraging me to push the button to lower the door down behind. “She’s probably so hyper focused on your life because hers is a shitshow.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because her husband is having an affair. Affairs typically mean shitshow.”
“He’s cheating on her?!” The gasp comes out of me is unintentionally dramatic. “What?! No. Seriously? Shut up.”
Baffled at the several phrases that just spewed out of my mouth has his face scrunching in confusion. “Okay that shit was a little hard for me to follow, sweetheart. Which of those am I supposed to answer?”
Slight embarrassment is followed by a small bite to my bottom lip. “I meant…how do you know that? How do you know he’s cheating on her? Did you see him?”
“Overheard him. Plus, a person’s garbage speaks volumes about their life.”
Holy shit, does yours? Doesn’t that statement now make you feel a little more self-conscious about what you throw out?!
Not wanting to know what mine says about me, I simply ask, “What sounds good for breakfast? Oatmeal? Cream of Wheat? Bagels? Oh! Oh! Should I make us coffee and then decide what we’ll eat?”
“How much time do you have before work?”
“It’s a late day for me, so quite a bit.”
He pauses his movements rather than continuing to close the gap. “Why’s it late?”
“I um…I don’t like to drive in the sleet or recently sleeted roads, so typically, I go in late or not at all.”
“It has something to do with Chris’s death, doesn’t it?”
There’s no stopping the way I shrink inward.
Tense.
Struggle to nod.
“What happened?”
My fidgeting carries on in the form of rocking on my sock covered feet and flicking random curly strands away from my face and chewing on the inside of my lip, all the things that usually buy me enough time for a person to change topics, yet he doesn’t.
He silently stares.
Waits.
Demonstrates patience and the willingness to remain that way like the long-lost saint of widows.
Wow. Guess this whole learn about each other’s past thing isn’t going to be a one-way street, huh?
“He was driving home on a night like yesterday about three years ago, about a week before Christmas,” my voice slowly begins, “and in a typical Chris fashion, he acted as though he knew better than everyone else – the weather itself included. To my best understanding, he figured he could make it home from our downtown penthouse before the sleet got too bad. He drove like there was no real need to slow down. Like the roads weren’t as bad they really were. According to the traffic report and investigation, he lost control of his Porsche on an icy bridge. Crashed.” Tears threaten to stop me from talking, but I force myself to push past them, and the discomfort that comes from sharing the information with someone new. “I was coming home later than usual from work that night – he had a whole I couldn’t bring the office home with me thing – and when I got here, my father – who was on duty that night – and his partner were waiting for me. Everyone in the local PD knew exactly who Chris was. He always wrote a huge check anytime they had any kind of fundraiser, plus he was dating a cop’s daughter. The officers first on the scene recognized the car and immediately called my dad. He showed up and simply waited to tell me in person rather than over the phone.” Sniffling away my sadness is easier than expected. “So, yeah. I don’t really like to drive on the roads like this.”