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’m not opposed to that solution either. In fact, it’s what I was planning to do just as soon as I finished this job with Nate and headed back to the States. Not right when I returned, of course.
I’ve always envisioned marrying Andrew at some ambiguous point in the future, when I stopped having cold feet about him and our relationship, when I was ready to get serious and settle down. Maybe after my next birthday, or the one after that.
Andrew coming here changes everything though. He’s forcing my hand. Our future is no longer a hypothetical thing; it’s here now, and I have to make a decision.
It’s why I’m so quiet at dinner. I have too much to think about. I’ve barely touched the pasta Nate made, as good as it is. The wine has gone down easy enough, though I cut myself off before I have another glass. With the way I’m feeling, I’d rather not muddle things with too much alcohol.
I feel Nate studying me, but I don’t dare look at him. I’ve been focused on my plate mainly. I’ve sat in this spot for ten or fifteen minutes and I think surely that’s enough. I scoot my chair back and take my plate to the sink.
“I’ll do those,” Nate tells me, and I don’t argue.
I want to go up and take a shower. I don’t want to stay in a room with both Nate and Andrew together for one more second.
I excuse myself and scurry up, but apparently, I’m not the only one looking for an escape. I’m not even completely up the stairs before I hear the back door open.
It’s Nate. He’s leaving.
I want to rush down immediately, but I suppress the urge. I only allow myself to hurry to the window once I’ve grabbed a fresh set of clothes. I half-expect to see taillights in the distance, but his car is parked where we left it earlier. He’s not going anywhere; he’s getting to work. I stay pressed close to the window as I watch him set up a lamp, illuminating the spot where he likes to chop wood. Apparently now is as good a time as any to replenish the stack in the shed. Never mind that it’s freezing cold and pitch black. He’d rather get frostbite than endure another minute in this cottage, and I don’t even blame him.
I turn the water on in the shower and crank it until steam fills the small room. I hear Andrew in the hallway, heading into the bedroom, and it doesn’t even occur to me to call out to him and have him join me in here.
When I’m done stalling—lathering, shaving, exfoliating—I step out of the shower and dress in the oversized t-shirt and socks I brought into the bathroom with me. I wrap my hair in a towel and slip into the room where Andrew sits on the bed, trying in vain to scroll on his phone.
He looks up when I walk in, his eyes a little red, like he’s been crying. “Does he have a cat?”
I grimace. “Yes, sorry. He’s usually in here but we moved him to Nate’s room.”
He nods, not annoyed per se.
“I can see if Nate has something you can take?”
“I brought some medicine. Never travel without it.”
“Right. Good. Shower’s free.” I point back out into the hall like there’s any confusion over where the shower could be in this tiny cottage.
He drops his phone onto the bed and stands, stretching his arms over his head while he takes me in. Then he unfurls a sheepish smile.
“You’re so beautiful.”
I scrunch my nose. “In my t-shirt?”
“Or out of it,” he says, his cheeks turning a little pink.
Panic grips me so suddenly. No thought. No indecision. Pure impulse.
Andrew and I can’t have sex.
We can’t.
“Aren’t we on a break?” I ask, my voice trembling.
He offers me a crooked smile. “Are we?”
I’m not ready for this conversation. Not yet.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to…complicate things that way. I mean, not until we decide what we’re going to do.”
He tries to conceal his hurt, but I still see it for a fleeting second.
I hate having to turn him down, but there’s no other option. I don’t want to be intimate with him, and realizing that scares me—that clear, powerful thought: I don’t want to have sex with Andrew. And truthfully, it’s not just about making our situation more complicated. If I were dying to touch him, to have him in that way, it wouldn’t matter what obstacles stood between us. Right?
“I get it, yeah,” Andrew says. “Should we talk about us then?”
We haven’t yet. He flew all the way here and we’ve been together for hours and there have been no dramatic declarations of love. I’m still not sure exactly what I want to say, or more specifically, I haven’t worked up the courage to say what I need to, so I look down and shake my head.