Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“So what do you want to do?”
It’s a simple question, and I meant it as such. What do you want to do with your life, Cole? We’ve had this discussion to some extent too. But his reaction—the stillness of his body, the intensity of his gaze—makes me think he’s internalized it in a much different, much deeper way.
“What do you want to do with yours?” he asks instead of answering the question himself.
Ah, deflection. He knows he tripped me up the last time, when he asked what I would change in my life if I could. So he knows my basic answer: a family. But I’m asking him to dig deeper, so I’ll play fair and offer him my truth.
“I don’t know.” I shimmy around in my chair. “I mean, I’d like to find a rhythm to my life. I’d like to get married, have another child.”
He nods.
“I want . . .” I try to find the right words. “I want a Christmas-movie life. Do you know what I mean? Like, I want traditions and routines. I want Ethan to be able to say, ‘Oh, we have soup on Christmas Eve and open our matching pajamas, and we have dinner at six every night.’ We do those things now, but it feels incomplete, in a way. Like there’s a missing part of us, and I can’t find it.”
Cole sighs. “I know what you mean.”
“You do?”
He takes a long, lingering breath. “Yeah. I do. All these options in front of me—none of them seem right. I feel like there’s a piece of my life out there, and I can’t find it either. I never noticed it before. Maybe it didn’t exist before I retired. I don’t know, but I certainly feel it now.”
“We’re just two lost souls.”
He laughs. “That we are. So, dinner?”
It’s not the most seamless transition, but I’m grateful for it.
“Cheeseburgers from Fletcher’s?” I ask.
“Sounds great.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
PALMER
How did you know that?” I look at my son like he has three heads. “Who are you hanging out with?”
Ethan laughs. “I read books, Mom.”
“You do?”
“Not by choice or anything. Teachers expect it.”
“Oh.”
Cole holds the remote control in the air. “Are we playing again?”
The closing credits of the third episode of an old game show roll across the television. I yawn, stretching my legs out on the ottoman in front of me.
“I’m not playing if Mr. Smarty-Pants over there is going to clean house in the astronomy category,” I say, nodding at Ethan.
“I also swept the Titanic category.”
“That you did.”
Cole laughs. “I’m not sure I want to play with you two again. I thought I was competitive, but . . .” He whistles. “You two make me nervous.”
Ethan rolls his eyes. “Mom is the least competitive person in the world until you turn on a game show. Then she’s like a vulture.”
“She actually did pretty bad in the bird category,” Cole teases.
I throw a pillow at him. “I hate birds, so that was unfair.”
“You also did terribly in mathematics,” he points out.
“And mythology,” Ethan chimes in.
I gasp. “Those are stupid categories. I killed it in nineties music and potpourri. Oh! And four-letter words. I nailed that.”
Ethan looks at Cole and smirks. “Are those even real categories?”
“Yes, they are,” I say.
Cole ignores me. “Compared to your astronomy knowledge and my deep understanding of world history and sports, I don’t think potpourri really holds a lot of water.” He glances at me. “She’s cute, though.”
I feel Ethan’s eyes on me, but I can’t look away from Cole. His grin is simple and adorable and makes me blush.
“Well, you’re both cute too,” I say, flipping my attention to Ethan. “And I’m super proud of your intelligence. You get that from me, you know.”
“Clearly.” Ethan gets to his feet and pretends to swing a bat. “You hit a home run with me.”
Cole stands too. “Not with that swing. Come here.”
I lean back against the sofa and watch the two of them delve into a baseball conversation that I can’t follow. Or maybe I don’t want to follow it. Trying to understand the mechanics of a baseball swing would take away from appreciating the two of them together.
My insides warm as Ethan shines under Cole’s attention. Again. This has happened a number of times tonight. Cole will stop what he’s doing to explain something to Ethan or listen to a joke or story, and Ethan eats it up.
But it makes sense. I do it, too, when Cole acts that way to me.
Cole Beck is one of the good ones.
I discovered tonight during dinner, when Cole stopped to look up the origins of hot dogs for Ethan, that Cole’s attentiveness is my favorite thing about him. It’s not his shoulders, which are fabulous, or the way he kisses me, which I love. It’s not the way he smells or the sound of his laugh. It’s the way he makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room.