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)
I like him.
Gil says, “Love—”
“Love? Let’s not get carried away, Gil.”
He chuckles, but it’s light, befitting the conversation that weighs on the heavier side. “Listen,” he says, gesturing his hand in front of him. I’ve learned that means he’s serious. “I know why you’re protective. You were done a disservice as a kid. I’m protective over you because of it, but if you like him, maybe like the new job, you show him. Love only blooms with an open heart. And if it’s not love, you’ll find out real soon.”
His words unexpectedly reveal a new side of the situation—Drew’s.
Drew welcomed me into his world, his private sanctuary. He didn’t treat me as if I were only temporary. He treated me like I belonged there with him. “Always coming in with the good advice. How do you know all this love stuff?”
“I’ve been around the sun a few turns, and what can I say? I have less than two hours until I go home to my sweetheart after a long shift. She’ll have a hot meal waiting, and then she’ll lie beside me until I fall asleep.”
They’re the sweetest. “Nancy’s always been a great cook.”
“Hey,” he says, pretending to pop his collar. “I’m not so bad myself.”
I’ve been to his house a few times over the years. He grills out back, but the kitchen always seemed to be Nancy’s domain down to the rooster décor. “Do you cook for her?”
“When I wake up to start getting ready for work, I have enough time to make her dinner. I usually leave a little note for when she gets home.”
Finishing my donut, I ask, “What does it say?”
“I’ll see you in the moonlight.”
That’s about the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. “Does she leave you notes?”
“Yes,” he says, his tone reminiscent of something special he’s experienced. “I’ll see you in my dreams.”
I can only dream of finding someone as special to spend my life with.
While Gil takes a rag to the top of the desk, I look back at the elevator. Maybe it’s that I’m more awake, or that I have food on my stomach, but my mind and heart are clear, giving me a new perspective. “Gil?”
He stops and looks up. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for the chat as always.”
“Always here for you.”
“Too much, in fact,” I joke but also mean it. I start for the elevator, knowing I owe Drew an apology. Now I understand why he was so upset. A lie is a lie, no matter how big or small or the intention behind it. We told each other trust and honesty, and I broke that promise.
I can’t be mad if he doesn’t forgive me. It will hurt, but I have to give him that right to do what he feels is best for him.
Gil says, “Family is always there when you need them.”
My parents used an unorthodox method of parenting, one that involved leaving me behind. So family isn’t always there, but Gil has been. We don’t tell each other I love you or get into the deep feels for each other, but we know we care without the words. “Good night.”
“Take care.”
The elevator door opens on the seventeenth floor, and I use the distance to his door to go over the things I want to say and try to predict a better outcome than the dread I’m feeling inside.
The night started with me still convincing myself we could be friends. That was a lie I was telling myself. As if I repeated it enough times, I would believe it. The teasing, the fun, and spending time together was already moving us past that stage. The physical attraction was always there, but somewhere along the way, my heartstrings started attaching to his.
I knock, light at first, and then wait. Dread digs its claws in deeper with every passing minute. Not able to stand there and wait, my fears have me knocking louder when he doesn’t answer.
Lowering my hand, I know it’s still early, and I look down the hall at the other door. I don’t have a right to disturb his neighbors just because I screwed up. Leaning against the solid wood door, I say, “Drew? Andrew?” I’m not sure if I have a right to the nickname right now . . . or at all since it’s become personal to him. “Mr. Christiansen?”
What am I doing?
We were making love three hours ago. Even if he is mad, surely, he’ll be okay if I call him by his first name, for Pete’s sake. Knocking lightly, I call, hoping he can hear me through the wood, “Andrew?”
Nothing.
No answer.
No reply.
No acknowledgment at all.
Anger tries to rear its ugly head as the insult of being ignored burns through me. I take a breath, drowning the emotions that make this about me instead of him. I should have told him the truth. He was owed that. I knew it all along. Is cutting me out with such finality my repayment? Now I start to worry about my job come Monday.