Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
“I followed you home, Jasmine… twice,” I tell her, feeling her head snap around and focus on me while I keep my head straight. Ten and two on the wheel and eyes front—my go-to confessional pose.
“Twice?” she asks in a rising tone.
I expect her to get mad or have second thoughts, but she finally sighs loudly again and throws herself back deeper into the soft leather of the sports seat.
“Iris was right,” she says softly to herself. “Why didn’t you say something to me in the store or buzz my buzzer? I would have let you in,” she says, batting my arm and scolding me playfully, making me feel dumber than I already do for acting like such a bonehead instead of just doing it as she says.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you want me to go to your place now?” I counter, pulling up at a stoplight and casting a look to challenge her.
I’m only playing, but I can see straight away it’s hit a nerve.
“Or… we can go do a little shopping,” I suggest.
“I’m not exactly dressed for dinner either,” I remark, backpedaling again.
It feels like every word’s just digging me into a deeper hole when I notice Jasmine’s face falling. It’s hardly the time of night to go clothes shopping. I don’t blame her. It’s going to take time to show her how different things can be for her—for us both if she’ll let me.
The light changes, but there’s no one behind me, so I turn to tell her, taking her hand.
“I meant every word, Jasmine. I’m a forever guy, and I want to spoil you rotten, okay? If I want to take you clothes shopping and take us to an overpriced restaurant, humor me.”
She seems to like that explanation, pecking me on the cheek before someone finally honks at me, and I keep driving.
“We can go to my place anytime you want,” she says after we drive in silence for a while.
“I guess it’s no secret where I live or what I do. And you’re right,” she agrees. “But it’s going to take some time to adjust,” she adds. “I do have work in the morning, so I don’t want to be up all night…”
Pulling across two lanes and stopping by the sidewalk, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“Work?” I stammer, the word and her name never matching up in my mind and not matching my plans for her. Not matching my plans for us.
Yeah, it’s cute. She has a flower stall, but I’m sorry. No woman of mine is going to be on her feet all day for lunch money. No way.
I want to say it a thousand different ways—to have it tattooed on my forehead if I need to. She’s mine now, and that means us. It means everything I have is hers. There’s no goddamned need to be standing in a freezing flower shop all day.
She gives me a confused look. I remember how concerned she was about her friend Iris just now. I know what it feels like to start something from nothing—to watch it grow, to make it.
I don’t want to deny her those things if that’s what she really wants.
“James, what’s the matter? You all right?” she asks.
I notice how hard I’m clutching the wheel. My eyes in the rearview mirror are wide and blazing. My mouth is set in some crazed grimace.
“I think I’m just crazy,” I admit—my second confession for the night.
“Crazy?” she echoes back, giving me a sidelong look, making me relax.
“Crazy for you, Jasmine,” I tell her softly. I feel my whole body relax hearing her name and seeing her sweet face only inches from me as she sits with me in my car, right where she belongs.
She flushes with embarrassment, but the good kind as I rephrase everything I’m thinking to her, so I don’t come across as a total control freak.
“I guess I’m just old-fashioned. I’m already thinking about you spending your days living the good life, not slaving over a bunch of hothouse flowers in a refrigerated shop,” I almost groan, pained at the thought of it.
“Ummm… I actually love my job,” she says firmly in a deep voice, making a funny face and shaking her head a little.
She makes me laugh out loud because she reminds me of myself always acting so serious.
I feel my mouth open, and the words just come out.
“I… I love you, Jasmine. I just want to provide for you and make you happy,” I tell her, watching her face get serious once she sees and hears that I’m not kidding.
I’ve never told anyone I love them. From the look on her face, I’d put money down betting nobody’s ever told Jasmine they love her, either.
Not the way I do.
They couldn’t. Nobody can.
I’ve said my piece, though, for now.