Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Upstairs, I shut the door and took off my uniform, deciding at the last minute to quickly shower and shave.
Back in my room, I pulled some jeans from my drawer, put on a clean T-shirt and underwear, and considered the dress shirts hanging in my closet. Deciding it would be too obvious to choose something blue again, I chose a black button-up this time, taking a moment to roll up the sleeves. I traded my work watch for a nicer one, ran a comb through my hair, and gave in to the temptation to wear a little cologne. I was replacing the bottle on my dresser when the framed wedding photo caught my eye.
I picked it up and looked at it closely, which I hadn’t done in months. Maybe even years. At this point, it was almost just part of the furniture.
What struck me first was how young I looked. No furrow between my brows. No crinkle lines at the corners of my eyes. Nothing but joy and optimism in my expression. We were only twenty-two when we’d gotten married. People had tried to tell us to wait, to break up and date other people, to put off making a lifelong commitment until we were older and wiser. Our marriage wouldn’t last, they said. We were too immature.
We’d laughed and insisted we knew better. After all, we’d been together for six years, and we’d never broken up once. We’d never cheated on each other. We’d never been with anybody else. Promising to love, honor, and cherish her forever had been easy for me. Of course, things hadn’t gone the way I’d thought, and I’d lost her before forever was even on the horizon.
For just a moment, the old fears kicked in—a gut reaction. Was it because I’d been too complacent? Too confident in my ability to protect people I loved from harm? Was that smile on my face a little too cocky? Had I really believed that bad things didn’t happen to good people?
Because they did.
All the time.
I saw it on the job every single day. You could be a good man, the best man you knew how to be, but you were a fool if you believed what you love couldn’t be taken from you. It could. In an instant.
That’s why I was better off alone.
My phone vibrated on the dresser. Grateful, I picked it up and looked at the screen.
Cheyenne: I’m ready.
Me: Me too.
Cheyenne: Should I walk over?
My gut instinct was to go get her, but that would make it seem more like a romantic thing. Best to keep this strictly platonic in every way.
Me: Sure. I’ll meet you outside.
I shoved my phone into my pocket, said goodbye to my mother and Mariah, and went outside. When I saw her coming up the driveway in the backyard, my body temperature soared, and I dropped my keys in the snow.
She looked gorgeous. Her hair fell in loose, honey-colored waves around her shoulders, and she was wrapped up in a giant gray sweater that looked like a blanket I wanted to crawl under. And her lips—they were a bright scarlet color, which stood out against all the white surrounding us, like a neon sign shouting KISS ME ALREADY YOU FUCKING IDIOT!
As I bent to retrieve my keys, I felt like dunking my head in the snow. Maybe even lying down in it and rolling around.
I ran way too hot around her.
“So tell me about the houses you’re going to see on Friday,” Cheyenne said, lifting her glass of white wine.
Tearing my eyes from her mouth for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour, I took a quick drink of my beer and set it down. “One of them is pretty close to my mom’s house—maybe too close,” I added, making her laugh, “and the other two are south of town, closer to the water. One is right near the creek, although it’s a little out of my price range.”
“I’m excited for you.” She picked up her fork and twirled it in her linguine.
When I’d asked her what she felt like for dinner, she’d suggested Italian, which I was happy about. Not only did I love the food at DiFiore’s, but it was small and quiet, with dim lighting and deep leather booths in the back that offered some privacy.
“Thanks. We’re excited too.” I cut into my osso buco, which was my favorite thing on the menu. “They’re all nice houses, but each of them needs some work.”
“How does your mom feel about you moving out?”
“I think she’s conflicted, to be honest. We’ve been there so long, and she likes having people to take care of. I remember how lonely she was after my dad died. When Mariah and I moved in, that gave her a purpose.”
“That’s understandable. I’m a caretaker personality too.”