Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
I get busy with the coffee.
“You already had some beans by the way.” I hold up the half-used bag that was sitting by the coffee machine.
He doesn’t look at me when he replies. “I know. I just…wanted to try something new.”
“Roger that.”
I push aside the old bag and grab the one he picked up today. It’s fancier than what he had been drinking and claims to be a local “artisanal” blend.
“So how did that all work out? Were you published by the time you left MIT?”
He snorts like the question’s laughable. “No. As a student, I was dirt poor and drowning in loans, writing at night and generally confused about what I wanted out of life.” He unloads the bacon onto a plate layered with a few napkins to help soak up the grease. I want to steal a piece now while it’s piping hot, but I know it’d scald my mouth. “It wasn’t until my supervising professor sat me down and threatened to cut me from the program that I actually got the nerve to leave on my own. I worked on The Last Exodus for another two years, living in a shitty apartment and working odd jobs to pay the bills.”
“God, I can imagine what those loans looked like from MIT. You must have been worried.”
He puffs out a breath like it’s still painful to think about.
“Things worked out though. I signed with a good agent and he got me the deal with InkWell.”
“You make it all sound so simple.”
He shrugs. “Looking back, it was simple.”
My jaw drops as I turn to him. “The fact that you think writing The Last Exodus was simple is actually astounding to me. That book…it just—”
He looks over at me, and I can feel the blush creeping up my cheeks. His eyes narrow in curiosity as I offer up a part-smile part-grimace.
“I’m a fan…by the way.” I say it like I’m admitting something embarrassing.
He nods, but he doesn’t expound on the subject. Clearly, he isn’t comfortable with his position in life. Being universally adored and fawned over seems to unsettle him.
I return to my coffee duty. Underneath the island’s wooden countertop, there’s a metal shelf housing a mismatched array of mugs that look like they’ve been curated by all the past inhabitants of the cottage. One celebrates the golden jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II. Another proclaims the drinker a Gryffindor. One crowded in the back has an illustration of two kittens playing with a basket of yarn.
I laugh in delight as I hold it up. “My grandmother has this mug!”
Nathaniel looks over at me, his expression softer now than it has been all morning. “You have to use it then.”
“Alright. Do you have a favorite?”
“That green one up front.”
It’s oversized and was likely handmade in a potter’s workshop. It’s painted with a dark green glaze that seems to melt down the sides. Of the bunch, it’d be my favorite mug too.
Once the eggs are done, we have ourselves a perfect breakfast. I’ve tasted the coffee so I know it’s good, but I still hold my breath waiting for Nathaniel to take his first sip. I’m across from him at the table, sitting with a tense posture. Nothing about this is easy.
This kitchen feels too small for him. I suspect even an airplane hangar would feel too small for him. I wonder if he would have this effect on me in a crowded room or if it’s simply because we’re here, alone, that he has me slightly uneasy.
He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs, the muscles in his jaw and throat capturing my attention. I’m probably watching him too intently, but I can’t help it. He’s nice to look at. I’ve never really been into men like him. He’s a far cry from Andrew, my on-again, off-again boyfriend of the last few years. Andrew is an investment banker and someone my parents love. I know because they’ve made their opinions very much known. They like what Andrew can offer me: stability and security. He has an analytical brain and fits in nicely around the Thanksgiving dinner table. Just one more Collins, really. He’s a little taller than me and lanky—no time to work out when you’re watching the markets 24/7—but he pulls off the look well, dressing in nice clothes and cute glasses. I really, really like Andrew. He’s been a solid foundation on which to build my life for the last few years, and he’s been patient with me beyond belief. He’s a catch! I know he could find someone else in a heartbeat, but he’s held out for me.
Our relationship has never really been simple, and I’m the one to blame for that. Andrew’s made it clear that he’s always been all in on us. I’m the one who’s unsure. I’m the one who’s always wanted to take things slow, to pull back and hold off on getting too serious. We broke up the first time just before I started grad school. My fault, of course. We didn’t talk for three months and then one day, he called me and asked me to get dinner, and I was struggling at the time, lonely and drowning in schoolwork. Andrew was a much-needed comfort, a teddy bear I continue to reach for time and time again.