Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry.” He ignored her words, forcing his unwanted apology on her. And now it was there, hovering between them like a bad smell, and Tina didn’t know what to do about it.
“It makes no difference,” she finally said, and his forehead furrowed.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he continued doggedly. Tina felt the blood drain from her face in angry reaction to his words.
“Oh my God. The ego on you. Do you think I’ve been nursing a broken heart all these years? Please just leave. There’s really no point in dredging all this up.”
“Tina, we were once friends.” He sounded almost miserable, and his words forced a bitter laugh from her.
“No. We weren’t. I don’t know why you would even say that. It’s a blatant untruth.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“Why are you bringing all this up again? It’s been ten years. Why do you even care?”
“This is the first time since that night that we’ve been alone together. Not for lack of trying on my part.” It was true that over the years, whenever he’d seen her with family or friends, he’d attempted to talk with her, asked her to coffee or lunch. He’d never gone out of his way to contact her, but he’d seized opportunities, usually at her family’s functions, when they presented themselves.
Tina had rebuffed all those attempts at communication.
“You’ve apologized. I’m sure you’re happy to get that burden off your conscience. Now maybe you’ll stop bothering me,” she said.
“Let me help you with this,” he insisted, indicating the boxes. Tina sighed, and the short sound was laced with irritation.
“On the condition that you don’t bring up all that old crap again,” she finally conceded with palpable reluctance.
“Tina—”
“Ever again,” she elaborated, interrupting him without a qualm.
He huffed impatiently before finally lifting his broad shoulders in a shrug.
“Fine.” His voice was surly, but Tina didn’t care. It felt like a victory of sorts.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked when he shrugged out of his denim jacket, tossing it over the back of her sofa, and shoved his hoodie sleeves up to his elbows.
“Please,” he said as he lifted a box—the swingy thing that Tina had lugged up the stairs—and scrutinized the images before reaching for his jacket and extracting a utility knife from one of the pockets. He neatly sliced the carton open before removing various plastic-wrapped objects.
Tina left him to it, surreptitiously watching him from her open-plan kitchen as she went about preparing a couple of cups of coffee. Instant. Because she had no intention of making any kind of special effort for him.
She finished the coffee in no time and placed his mug on the table beside where he was kneeling on the floor, softly cursing beneath his breath as he tried to figure out the complicated-looking swing.
Tina picked up a bigger box, a playpen, and reached for his knife where he had left it on the table, and she made short work of opening it up. She read the instructions carefully and grouped the pieces in the order she would need them before starting.
She was making good progress and was wrapped in her own thoughts, effectively ignoring the fact that Harris was just across the room from her, when he spoke unexpectedly.
“I think this stuff was left over from her baby shower. I mean, she had her nursery completely set up already. I think she was going to give these things to charity.”
Tina wasn’t surprised. Libby’s baby shower had been so extravagant that she’d been left with way more gifts than she had needed. Libby had wanted Tina to host the shower and had envisioned something small and intimate . . . but Libby’s mother-in-law had insisted on handling the arrangements, and it had turned into a three-ring circus, with women attending whom Libby had barely known.
“It was easier to transport the stuff that was still in the boxes.”
“I see,” Tina responded, only because a reply seemed required of her. She didn’t know why he’d felt the need to tell her this. She didn’t particularly care. She just wanted him out of her home as soon as possible.
“These things are going to take up a lot of room in your apartment. It’s just one bedroom, right?”
“I don’t mind.” His observation raised her hackles. It felt accusatory.
“It’s going to get crowded pretty quickly,” he continued.
“That’s not your concern,” she said dismissively.
“I could arrange an apartment for Libby—someplace bigger, close to her parents.”
“She wouldn’t want that.”
“You can’t speak for her,” he protested sullenly, and she gave him her best “dude, please” look.
“I’m pretty sure, in this instance, that I’m perfectly qualified to speak for her. I told you, she won’t even stay with her parents because their apartment was a gift from your parents. What makes you think she’d be okay staying in a place you’ve ‘arranged’?” She used air quotes for the last word.