Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“We all do the best we can. Each one of us starts at a different green light in life and we have to get through the course, taking as many correct turns as we can. And none of us, Sara, get every turn right. And we’re not all on the same course, either.”
My breathing slows. There’s a softness in her voice, in her gaze, that comforts me.
“From what I understand about your life, and I may have heard wrong and if I have, I apologize in advance,” she says. “But if what I’ve heard is true, the fact that you’re standing here, in your own apartment, relatively happy—”
I laugh.
“—healthy, successful … you’ve made more right turns than most people have.”
She walks across the kitchen and wraps her hands around my arms.
“No matter what happens between you and my son, I’m always here if you need to talk or need advice,” she says. “Promise me you’ll remember that.”
I nod, my nose burning with unshed tears.
“Good.” She pats my arms and then picks up her bags. “Do you need anything else?”
“No. I’m truly grateful for the dinner and the words of encouragement, Damaris. Thank you.”
She walks to the door. “I heard you make great brownies.”
I laugh. “I mean, they’re all right.”
“Bring us a batch on Sunday for dinner, if you can. I’d love to taste them.” She stops and looks at me. “I’ll see you then.”
My heart flutters. “I …” I take a breath. “I’ll see you, Damaris.”
She winks and pulls open the door. “Oh, crap. Here. Let me help you.”
What? “What’s going on?”
“Dammit, Banks. Why didn’t you get someone to help you?”
“Because everyone was too busy.” His voice filters through the room, swirling around my heart. “Ouch!”
“You are going to bust your fingers. Be careful.”
I stand in the kitchen, the air filling with Luna Rossa Black.
My heartbeat quickens, and my knees weaken, and I cover my mouth so I don’t say something that I’ll regret later.
“This is a rental,” Damaris says, moving out of the way. “Try not to put holes in the wall for crying out loud.”
“I’m trying, Mom. I really am.”
Banks walks in the apartment carrying the headboard from the guest bed—the one I slept in the first night. He leans it against the wall and stands tall, watching me with hopeful eyes.
Damaris slips out the door, closing it gently behind her.
He’s still in his work jeans from earlier but has put on a fresh shirt. A navy-blue hat sits backward on his head.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Bringing you a bed. You mentioned you didn’t have furniture when I fished your vibrator out of the toilet.”
He remembered that? I take in his smile. Of course, he did.
I halt my expectations and quell my hope just in case I’m misreading this situation. Banks smirks as if he can read my mind.
“I grabbed the rest of your stuff from my house too,” he says. “Well, not all of it. But the stuff I think you’ll need tonight.”
“Thanks,” I say, biting my lip to distract myself from the pain in my chest. “I can come get the rest tomorrow.”
“That’s fine.”
Okay. I take in a shaky breath and motion toward the bed. “You didn’t have to bring that. I mean, I appreciate it, but I’ll get one as soon as I get my first check from Petterson. I mean, assuming I get the job.”
A slow smile splits his cheeks, sinking his dimple deep. “If you want to get a new one, that’s your call. I’ll take this back home. But it’s staying here until then because I’m not sleeping on the floor.”
Huh?
He saunters toward me with a sly look on his face. It’s typical Banks—a mix of sexiness and adorableness that’s unique to him.
“I know you need your space,” he says. “I don’t love it. I don’t really understand it. But I know it.”
“Okay.”
“And I know you need to take things slow. I remember you saying that you don’t like relationships because men try to tell you what to do with your time, expect you to be a certain person, and think it might end in marriage.” He leans forward. “I do kinda hope this ends in marriage, but I’ll keep that to myself.”
I cover my mouth with my hand.
“So maybe you need your own place for a while. Maybe you need to slowly transition into living together or whatever. I want you to be you because you are the woman I love.”
I drop my hand because it can’t cover my ear-to-ear smile anyway.
“Mom says relationships include compromise,” he says, lifting his chin. “So I’ll understand that you need your own apartment if you understand that I can’t sleep without you every night. But I’ll stay here sometimes if you’d like.”
“Banks …” I say, laughing.
“What’s it matter, anyway?” He shrugs. “It’s always going to be me and you. And I’ll get my whole garage this way, which is great because I’ve already seen what my brothers’ garages look like when their girls move in. There’s barely any space for tools.”