Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
I squint against the breeze and push harder.
Usually, I take my time, stopping often to admire the view.
Today, it’s only because my body makes me.
My legs burn. My lungs are disintegrating in my chest. My head—hoo boy, where do I even start?
Even Mol looks like she could use a break, her big pink tongue hanging out like a ribbon.
Reluctantly, I slow down and come to a stop at the lighthouse, walking up to the observation point so I can look across the water.
I instantly smile.
My mind sees him out there, fighting Mother Nature with all his raw, quintessentially grumpy Shepherd energy—and this time I wouldn’t even yell at him for risking his neck.
...no, that’s a lie.
I’d totally yell because no inner ragies justifies risking his life.
But I blink and he disappears.
There’s no one out there today except a few lonely fishing boats.
Molly rolls down beside me, catching her breath. I crouch down and dig my fingers into her fur, fighting this weird feeling of disappointment and the weirder urge to cry.
I’m not crying over this, I lie.
“Wow, someone’s beat today. What’s wrong, girl?” I say past my rock in my throat. I think I already know. “No harm in an early nap, huh? Let’s head home.”
Molly looks up at me and stretches.
Those trusting, bright-blue eyes I adore so much glow brighter than the silvery water.
You know what the worst part is?
Shepherd got along with her so easy.
It was nothing like the date-destroying disaster I’ve been fearing ever since I got her. Men and hyperactive dogs usually don’t mix, and it’s one more reason I haven’t put myself on the market.
But Shepherd, he just took every playful lick and rude paw like they were already old friends.
I wonder if Molly’s feeling sad because she knows we won’t be seeing him again, and whatever beautiful, messy thing might’ve happened isn’t meant for this life.
Scratching her ruff, I pick myself up with a heavy sigh.
I pretend to ignore the stupid, hollow feeling in my chest as I turn Molly around and jog back home to get ready for my next round of misery in the office.
The good times never last.
It’s time to grow up and face the freaking music.
So, being an adult is hard—and also weird.
Everything feels shockingly ordinary at work today.
In the days since we last saw each other, absolutely nothing unusual has happened.
He’s holed up in his office and I’ve stayed in mine, mostly with Mark, who hasn’t been the biggest pest in the known universe, even if he’s a bit of a chronic suck-up by nature.
He’s actually given me plenty to do and we’ve worked well enough together through his massive slush pile of charity queries.
Also, a certain someone—probably Hannah, or maybe her minion Rebecca—squashed the rumors so effectively that people only stare at me now when they think I’m not looking.
Progress.
Carol gives me a few sympathetic smiles whenever we pass by. She ducked in to congratulate me on a fantastic presentation—and apparently on the fact that the product team is already working to adapt one of their prototypes to conservation tracking.
I’m modest as always, taking the kind words in stride.
Except there’s that little bit of pride inside me that feels good because it was a great proposal.
I worked hard on it, and it feels good to have that work acknowledged.
“So, in case you wondered... a lot of people feel bad that they were wrong about you and Mr. Foster,” Mark says encouragingly at lunch. There’s a splat of mayo beside his mouth as he bites into his wrap.
The sun beats down on our heads, warmer now at midday.
“Yeah?” I force a smile, knowing he’s just trying to make me feel better.
“For sure! I mean, it’s pretty obvious there’s nothing going on now.”
Oof. Now I know he’s just buttering me up.
Or maybe my heart just forgot that every juicy piece of gossip eventually turns boring.
“I’m glad people are figuring it out,” I say again.
“You think it just won’t fizzle, huh?” His eyes shine with concern. “Listen, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. People will forget about it soon, if they haven’t already.”
He gives me a sympathetic smile, but I think he’s forgotten the fact that if he’s still talking about it, it’s unlikely anyone else has forgotten just yet.
Ugh.
This day is dragging.
“You’re killing it with the queries, by the way,” he tells me.
I try not to glare at him.
Silence is to Mark like bug spray is to mosquitoes.
“Thanks. They’re not so bad once we found a groove.”
“Oh, yeah. I wish I always had an assistant this good.”
I bite back the urge to tell him he’s the assistant, technically.
Then again, he’s actually on payroll.
The work is a necessity, and definitely not as exciting as being out in the field searching for endangered animals. But if my time at Wired Cup taught me anything, it’s that even corporate grunt work contributes to a good cause.