Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Shit. I know that look well, and considering everything, it devastates me. He has every right to be disappointed in me. Hell, I’m disappointed in myself. The first time seeing Nick in a little under six years and I swan dive over a counter just to avoid him. I’ve pictured this moment so many times. I always pictured that I would smile and step into his open arms before planting a kiss on his stubbled cheek, maybe letting it linger just a second too long. He would be happy to see me, both of us sharing our lives over coffee and quickly catching up. But swan diving?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Yeah,” I say, swallowing hard, my hands uncontrollably shaking. “Is he gone?”
“Clearly if he’s busy shaking his head, he’s not gone.”
“Holy fuck.”
“Yep. You said that already,” he murmurs, grabbing a dish rag and throwing it at me, the damp cloth landing on my arm. “If you’re going to take up residence on the floor, the least you can do is start mopping up your latte.”
I grumble a string of insults and hope like fuck this guy isn’t going to spit in my latte when I ask him to make me a new one, but nonetheless, I grab the dish rag and start cleaning up my mess.
“So, you new in town?” he asks, getting on with other orders, clearly coming to terms with the fact that the sticky floor has just become my new home for the next . . . I don’t even know how long.
“Not exactly,” I tell him. “I grew up here. I’m just home for the holiday break and then I’ll be heading back to New York.”
“Ahhh, so I take it Mr. Disappointment out there is an ex then?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Writing it across your forehead in Sharpie would have been less obvious,” he says, glancing back toward the street, his eyes widening just a fraction. “Oh, shit. He’s coming.”
“WHAT?” I screech, horror gripping me in a chokehold, my palms instantly growing sweaty.
The barista laughs, his lips quirking into an amused smirk. “Chill out. I’m just screwing with you. He took off.”
“Oh, thank fuck.” My whole body sags, my head dipping forward between my shoulders as I force myself to take deep calming breaths. I don’t know what I was expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. And on the off chance that it wasn’t Nick who shoveled my driveway last night, he sure as hell knows I’m back now. On second thought, while he certainly didn’t look pleased to see me, he also didn’t look shocked.
No, Nick definitely knew I was back in town. The only question is, now that I’ve made an ass of myself, how the hell are either of us supposed to move forward from here? Do I send a text apologizing for my awkwardness, or do I say nothing and pretend the whole thing never happened?
Fucking hell. I’m twenty-eight years old. I should be able to face an ex with poise. But Nick isn’t just the average ex, he’s the one I let slip through my fingers, the one who got away, and I’ve regretted it ever since.
One thing is for sure though, he looked incredible.
At twenty-two, we were still just kids with the whole world ahead of us. There were still a few boyish charms about him as he shifted from being a broody teenager into a man, but now, there’s no mistaking it. He’s almost twenty-nine now, and damn it, it suits him. He’s exactly my type.
Even in the snow, he was wearing nothing but a black shirt that hugged his strong arms, showing off the defined muscles beneath, but I’m not surprised by that. He’s always been strong and has never opted for wearing a jacket, even during a blizzard. Though, he always kept one in the back of his truck for me because I never could remember to pack my own. Or maybe I did it on purpose, loving how he would offer me his jacket like a perfect gentleman. It always smelled just like him, but I could never work out why because I never saw him wear it.
His hair was cropped short, just as it’s always been, and the soft stubble across his jaw has my fingers itching to explore.
Shit. I can’t think like this. It’s been six years. I was a high school fling . . . Or maybe a little more than that, but I can guarantee a guy like Nick hasn’t been waiting around for me to return.
Instant jealousy fires through the pit of my stomach at the thought of him being with anyone else, and yet I have absolutely no right to feel that way. I was the one who broke his heart, I was the one who took off to New York with all these big plans to become some kind of PR guru. Hell, it’s not like I haven’t tried dating either. I’ve made plenty of mistakes when it comes to the men I’ve allowed into my life, and yet Nick was never one of them.