Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
And then I thought of her. What she’d think of me. How she’d look at me.
I scowled at the kid. He stared up at me, panting and terrified...
I nodded across the street. “Do you see that bookstore?”
He nodded frantically. “Yes sir.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out twenty dollars. “Go and buy a book.”
He blinked up at me, incredulous. “What book?”
“Any book.”
He nodded, snatched the money and ran. He disappeared into Bronwyn’s bookstore and a few minutes later came back clutching a thick paperback. “Now you,” I told the other one, handing him a twenty.
He ran across the street and bought a book, then came back. The two of them stood there clutching their books. “Now what?” one asked.
“Go! Go home,” I snapped.
“What do we do with these?” he asked, looking at the books.
“Read,” I growled. They ran.
“Hey, I’ll do it,” said a voice behind me.
I turned around. A kid of about twelve on a bike had ridden up and must have been listening. I put a twenty in his hand and he rode over to the bookstore and went in. He was back a few minutes later with a book. “Want me to do it again?” he asked hopefully.
I frowned, thinking. She’d recognize him if he went in again. “Got any friends?” I asked.
The kid pulled out a phone. He kept his voice low, but I still heard him. “Crazy Russian dude’s giving people cash to buy books!”
Soon, I had a crowd around me and a steady stream of kids running over to Bronwyn’s store. I kept it going until I ran out of cash, then swept the broken glass off my seat and drove to a garage.
That night, I was working in my home office when Bronwyn came and leaned against the door frame. “I had a really good day in the store today.”
I glanced up, my face carefully neutral. “Good.”
“Really good.” She came closer and I tried not to watch the sway of her hips. “Suspiciously good. Kids kept coming in and buying books.”
“Children do love to read.”
“One bought a book on Keynesian economics.”
I looked down at my work. “Precocious child.”
She planted her hands on my desk and leaned forward. I caught her scent, that strawberries and violets smell, and had to look up. She was so close that a few strands of copper hair tickled my nose. Her breasts were swaying forward under her sweater and all I could think about was burying my face between them. But I forced my face to be impassive and just raised one eyebrow.
“Thank you,” she said gently.
There was no point denying it. With hindsight, maybe I should have stopped after twenty kids. But the idea of making her happy had been addictive. “You’re welcome.”
“You can’t do that again,” she told me.
I pouted and frowned. “Yes I can.” I could do it every day and it would barely put a dent in my finances.
She sighed. “I mean...I want to make the store work. But I’ve got to do it on my own.”
I scowled stubbornly. But I had to admire her strength. I hadn’t realized it before, but she reminded me of me, when I first came to America, building things up from nothing. “Very well,” I allowed.
She nodded gratefully and left me to my work. My eyes followed her as she went into the kitchen area, probably to make one of her enormous sandwiches. I suddenly didn’t want to be shut away in here, working. I wanted to be out there, with her…as a couple.
Ridiculous. I had no time for a relationship. I had a corporation to run, an Armenian gang to keep out of our territory and a police investigation to worry about. At any moment, they might find something that linked me to Borislav’s murder, and if that happened I wouldn’t even make it to jail because Spartak would wipe me and my whole family out in revenge.
And yet… I looked down at my paperwork, but I couldn’t concentrate. Even without seeing her, I knew exactly what she was doing, her little ritual burned into my mind. The way she peered into the refrigerator so seriously, figuring out exactly which toppings to use...the way she hummed to herself as she buttered the bread. It was milyy. Sweet.
My fingers stiffened on my pen. Since when did I find things sweet?
Something else was bothering me, too: what had happened with the two car thieves. A few months ago, I’d never have spared them.
It was just a moment of weakness. That had to be the reason, because there was only one other possibility: she was changing me.
That evening, we visited Baba at her new care facility. We’d been going every few days and every time, we could see a small but real improvement: she was able to take a few steps, now, with the help of a couple of walking sticks, and she was talking. Her color was better and there was a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. She was doing so much better that we borrowed a wheelchair and took her to a shopping mall so she could get an outfit for the wedding.