Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Closing his eyes, he hums, as if he’s so relaxed and at peace.
Finally.
“You could write about it, Stellan,” I say even more excitedly. “I mean since you quit your job and you’re now free to do stuff with the books.”
He hums again.
“Oh my God”—I gasp—“How about I act in it?”
“Uh-huh.”
Then something occurs to me and I go, “Will you be mad if I tell you I lied?”
His eyes open. “What?”
“You’re getting mad.”
“Dora.”
“Well you just opened your eyes. You were so relaxed before and—”
“What did you lie about?” he asks sternly.
I wrinkle my nose. “So the camp?”
His eyes narrow. “What about it?”
“I do have to leave,” I tell him, playing with the ends of his hair.
“But?”
“But I don’t go until the summer.”
“Summer.”
“Uh-huh. I just said that to –”
“Hurt me,” he finishes.
I bite my lip. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m not.” Then, I explain, “But only because you deserved it. You deserved a little pain and—”
He shuts my mouth with his kiss.
And the moment our lips touch, I melt.
I kiss him back.
Even though it occurs to me that if this is his new life, he should really follow in my footsteps and ask me. Like I asked him.
For a kiss.
I mean it’s only fair.
But it’s okay.
For now, this is good.
This is great.
Him and me and our kiss.
We have entire lives to figure the rest out.
Epilogue
Six months later…
As always, he stands at the edge of things.
In this case, he’s standing at the edge of the roof as he looks out into the night.
I take a few moments to study him, his profile, from a distance. I run my eyes over his tall frame. Tall and broad. So tall that if he were standing under my pink magnolia tree, he wouldn’t have to reach his arm all the way up to pluck the flowers; and so broad that he carries the weight of the world on them. His jaw is clean-shaven and his dark, gleaming hair is smoothed back as always. His white shirt is crisp and dark jeans mold to his athlete thighs with perfection.
He looks the same as he did over two years ago when I first saw him.
But there are differences.
Like for example, his shirt is white as opposed to dark like that night. The ends of his hair are damp because he’s just had a shower. And he isn’t standing in the dark like a thug. Or like he wants to melt into the shadows, no.
Tonight, every inch of him is illuminated by the moonlight.
In fact, he’s staring right at the full and bright moon right now.
As he waits for me.
So I call out, “Hey.”
He turns to face me and as always, my breath catches in my throat when our eyes clash. There’s something about him, you see. Something that simply speaks to me. That makes me go breathless and thoughtless and reckless.
I like to call it destiny.
And these days, he agrees.
I can see it in his eyes.
As they take me in as well.
Going from the maang tikka on my forehead to the sparkly paayal around my henna tattooed ankles. Of course he stops at places during his perusal. Like around my shoulders where my hot pink and golden sequined dupatta goes over, and at my chest where the matching blouse I’m wearing shows off my cleavage. He also takes a long time staring at my bare midriff, at my belly button, at my elaborate lehenga, which is also hot pink in color.
I’m not going to lie. I love when he stares at me like that.
Like I make him go all breathless and thoughtless and reckless too.
See? Destiny.
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” I breathe out.
He blinks.
As if he was in a trance and my words broke it.
I bite my lip to stop my smile.
And his eyes flare in response.
“You look…” he begins but trails off, his eyes going up and down my body again.
I bite my lip harder and this time he sucks in a breath. Then, letting my lip go and walking toward him, I suggest, “Beautiful?”
He watches me approach him. “Yeah but…”
“That’s not the right word?” I tease, slowly closing the distance between us.
He shakes his head slowly. “No.”
Smiling, I keep going, “Resplendent?”
“Yeah but no.”
“Glorious?”
He shakes his head slowly, his eyes flashing.
“Luminous then,” I say as I reach him and stop.
Although I don’t think he likes it all that much.
Me stopping where I did.
I knew it and that’s why I did it.
Because in a second he’s going to do the thing that I like. Which is: he reaches forward and yanks me to him, making me go crash against his hard body. As if he can’t bear even a couple of inches between us. As if he wants every part of him touching every part of me at all times.
I agree.
We should be touching all the time.