Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I was met with the scent of brewing coffee, but it was only August in the kitchen as I walked in.
He hadn’t dressed yet either, standing there looking way too freaking tempting in his low-slung pajama pants and nothing else.
“Was about to stick a mirror under your nose,” he said, back turned to me as he poured coffee into two cups.
“I never sleep this late,” I admitted, glad he was letting things go.
“Figure maybe you never let your body tell you it wants to sleep this late,” he said, passing me my coffee.
“That’s… probably true,” I admitted instead of saying something snarky like I might have before.
For years, my pace had been breakneck. There was always something that needed to be done, so I was constantly doing it. Cleaning, baking, community outreach, trying to drum up more business, balancing the books, taking care of my house. And that didn’t include my usual workday tasks, making coffee, clearing tables, restocking supplies.
I didn’t have free time.
And I’d long-since convinced myself that I just didn’t need as much sleep as everyone else did.
But given the chance, my body clearly wanted more. Hell, even with a few extra hours, I was still tired enough to crawl back into bed and get another ten hours.
“Was Aurelio here already?” I asked.
“If Aurelio had been here, there’d be food,” August said.
“He does always bring food,” I said, shaking my head. “What’s up with that?”
“Probably something he picked up from his mom. Our moms are forever bringing tons of food places. Even if my mom is just stopping by to say hi, she’s got three dishes for me to put in my freezer.”
“That’s kind of nice, though.”
“Your mom like that?”
“My mom was the queen of the prepared food aisle at the grocery store,” I admitted. “She said she hated to cook and after doing it for my ‘ungrateful’ father for years, she decided she never wanted to do it again.”
Was that a hint of bitterness in my voice?
Maybe.
I loved my mom. But everyone has flaws. And everyone unintentionally does things that bother their children. My mom never cooking when I was growing up was the thing that bothered me. Not even for holidays. When everyone else was sitting down to these giant meals their moms or dads toiled over for hours on Thanksgiving or Christmas, we were having Chinese. Or maybe hitting a twenty-four-hour diner.
“Do you cook?” he asked, not pressing, and I was glad. I was already feeling a little too vulnerable with him after the whole elevator thing and now, you know, getting all physical with him.
“I enjoy cooking, but I don’t always have time for it,” I told him. “I bake a lot for work. But over time, you kind of lose your taste for things you’ve been baking day in and out for years.”
“I get that. What about your dad? Did he cook when you visited with him?”
“He… barbecued,” I said. “If I wanted anything that couldn’t be grilled, I had to prepare it. But he tried,” I admitted. And, in retrospect, that was nice.
“You want to go see him today after the shop?” he asked. And what I appreciated most was the casual way he said it, like if I answered no, he wouldn’t judge me for it.
“I think that’s probably a good idea. I will get a better update if I am there to talk to the nurses and doctors. So… so it seems like we are kind of in a waiting pattern now, huh? To see if my dad wakes up?” I asked.
“Well, he would be the easiest way to figure this shit out, for sure. But I’m curious to be at your shop today, see if anyone seems to be showing us too much interest.”
“I’m sorry this is taking so long,” I said, knowing he had his own life to get back to.
“It is what it is. You can never know how long shit like this is gonna take to figure out.”
I nodded as I walked to the sink to rinse out my cup. “I know I’ve been difficult, but I appreciate you and Aurelio coming over to help me out,” I said. “I know you have lives and family and—what?” I asked when I caught him watching me with drawn together brows.
“By any chance, did you knock your head before you went to sleep?” he asked.
“What? Wh—“
“Maybe slam your head a little too hard in the bath you were taking to avoid talking to me last night?”
“I was not avoid—“ I started.
“Oh, you absolutely were,” he cut me off.
“Oh, get over yourself. It was just sex. You’re making it out to be like it was some big deal,” I said, avoiding eye contact because I knew he would see the lie there if he looked closely enough.
“If it was no big deal, you wouldn’t have run the fuck out of there as soon as we got off the couch,” he countered.