Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“You’re here,” she says, as if that proves her point.
Blocked from opening the door properly, I stand on the opposite side and use my height to hold it open high above her head. She happily ducks under to exit, reminding me how small she is. She can’t be more than five-two or three. “Late night, sweet treat.”
I could call her the same. I don’t. But I could.
We move out of the entrance and start strolling back toward my building. I say, “I haven’t had ice cream in a long time.”
“It’s good, right?” Eager anticipation colors her expression, as does a chocolate chip above the right corner of her mouth. I subtly lick the corner of mine. Without acknowledging the act, her tongue dips out and sweeps the chocolate away.
“It was. I’m glad I came out.”
Joy surges through her spine, causing a little wiggle, and she looks down at her feet. When I’m granted the beauty of her hazel eyes again, she whispers, “Me too.”
I’m quick to pull her close when a boisterous group of teenagers hoards most of the sidewalk, leaving little room for others. She doesn’t appear to mind my arm wrapped around her waist as though it belongs there.
I don’t either.
Removing it is the right thing to do among friends. So, I do.
She asks, “How long has it been since you went out for ice cream?”
It’s odd how that question hits sideways in my gut. Probably because it brings some truth to the surface. “I don’t remember.”
Although she had just taken a bite, which should bring pleasure, sympathy wriggles into her eyes. “I’m glad we’re remedying that.”
The moment passes, but I won’t complain that the focus is off me. I prefer to be the one behind the scenes instead of in the spotlight. We continue walking. Her eyes are momentarily hidden behind closed lids as she savors the sweet flavor. When she reopens them, she catches me staring. Touching the side of her lips, she asks, “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“If it’s nothing, then why are you looking at me like that?”
Chuckling, I reply, “I like how much you’re enjoying that ice cream.”
“See?” she says, confident the universe has her back. I have a strong suspicion it does. “We’ve gotten two likes out of you. Rocky road and me.” She giggles. “Well, not me specifically, but . . .” She bumps into my side and taps her head to my arm in a nudge. “You’re having fun, and that’s what this is all about.”
“I am. Thanks for insisting I join you.”
“I didn’t really have to twist your arm. You didn’t waste a second getting downstairs.”
Running is a good way to clear my mind, and lifting weights helps maintain my muscle mass, but I rarely combine them. Yet getting down seventeen flights of stairs to beat her clock was worth the soreness I’ll feel tomorrow. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I shrug. “It was no big deal.”
We approach the coffee shop where we met last week. It’s closed at this hour, but we still stop to take a peek. It’s become a regular stop when I need something better than what’s served at the office. She sits on the bridge ledge of the windowsill as she comes to the end of her cone.
“I shouldn’t probably admit how boring my life is, but it’s nice being out of the apartment.” She sits, contentedly listening as I continue rambling. “I miss having an outdoor space, a patio to spread out on, or a short drive to the beach.”
“Have you always only lived in Los Angeles?”
Nodding, I look down the street and then back at her again. “I spent a few months in Seattle before I moved to New York.”
“The other CWM office,” she says, filling in the blanks. “The other night, you said you were here for two years. What is that deadline?”
“Imaginary. It’s just a mental note I keep.”
“Because it’s that bad living here?”
“No, because I left everything in LA, and some days, I get homesick. That doesn’t sound very mature—” I turn to face the sidewalk to block her gaze that’s determined to read me like a book.
“Being homesick isn’t about maturity. It’s about where your heart longs to be.” Popping to her feet, she takes her sweater from me and puts it back on. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Heading toward my place again, I look around at all the apartment buildings in the area, curious where she lives. “What about you? Is your heart in the city?”
“I’m open to change, but there’s no reason to right now.”
My curiosity getting the better of me, I finally ask, “Where do you live?” She raises an eyebrow along with one side of her mouth but doesn’t say anything. I add, “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable. I’m just guessing it must be close, considering how fast you got to my building.”