Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
That’s how enamored I already am.
Nat’s my best friend, so of course she’s going to know when I go out on dates or hate dates or need help getting out of a date but telling her about my early morning breakfast adventure with Tate was different. It didn’t come out like it normally does. It was sort of said in such a second nature that you’d think this was an everyday occurrence rather than our first date. I spoke like coming home to him was expected and part of my daily routine – a part I loved and that made the long hours extra-long – and the casualness of it all had her banshee screeching in disbelief given my track record. She was quick to remind me – post my pre-teen fangirling over the pending rendezvous – that I didn’t even talk about Daniel with such ease, and we were together for four years.
Her Daniel point may be what’s haunting me the most.
It’s not that I didn’t love him or wasn’t in love with him.
No.
That definitely happened. We definitely happened. But it was different. It was…how do I put it without sounding like an episode of Vampire Diaries…Oh…fuck it. It wasn’t passion-filled. There wasn’t lust or an undeniable attraction every time we took a breath.
Do I understand relationships often dull a bit after some time?
Of course.
Shouldn’t it be there to begin with though?
And it wasn’t with him.
It was closer to friends with benefits who fucked around and got married but probably never should’ve.
Yet with Tate…
God help me.
Just five fucking minutes on the phone with him, and I know that undeniable desire between us will last a lifetime.
That is if I let it.
Can I let it?
Is there something wrong with letting it happen with someone so much younger than me?
Turning onto my street inspires another large breath to be taken.
Maybe this’ll be okay.
Maybe it’ll be even better than okay.
Maybe it’ll be a real win in that date category I’ve been flunking.
Pretty sure even my matchmaker seems frustrated with me for bringing down her success rate.
I come to a slower speed and ease into my driveway, smile somehow impossible to stop as I park my SUV next to his beat-up vehicle that I technically don’t know is his, yet logically do.
Gah, even just doing this gets my stomach in knots.
How the fuck am I gonna survive an entire meal?!
Maybe I don’t eat?
Maybe I just drink?
It’s breakfast. Orange juice and vodka is an acceptable pairing to whatever he serves.
Grabbing my bag out of the passenger seat is followed by the exiting, locking, and strolling away from my Audi for my front door.
The surprise of course isn’t Tate waiting on the porch swing with bags of groceries but at how natural he looks there.
How natural he feels being here.
Ugh.
I hate it.
No.
I hate that I don’t hate it.
I also hate that I don’t hate it and know that I probably should hate it.
My eyes steal a moment to drink him in before speaking. His tight gray t-shirt that’s clinging to the muscles underneath it for dear life exposes tattooed forearms I can’t wait to get a better look at. His dark fitted jeans have holes in them; however, I’m not sure if they are for fashion purposes or from being overworn. The unlaced brown vintage boots, which are safeguarding the paper bags to the side of them, are an interesting, unexpected touch that present him being tied to an era that’s not his own.
All together the outfit reveals to me the real man underneath the uniform.
The one who has my heart constantly skipping beats.
Even now.
I lean against the nearby pillar and playfully inquire, “Comfy?”
“Quite,” he happily retorts at the same time his stare meets mine. “Spend a lot of time on this?”
“Not as much as I like.”
“How come?” Tate immediately investigates.
“I um…,” the honest answer fumbles freely from my lips, “I don’t really know.”
“Why did you buy it?”
“I liked the idea of sitting on it, drinking coffee, and watching the sun come up.”
“And?”
“And…,” my mouth keeps moving much to my surprise, “I liked the idea of sitting on it, drinking wine, and watching the leaves fall in October.”
“Alone?”
“Not if I don’t have to be.”
“You never have to be alone again, beautiful.”
Stunned by my own much too open response as much as the one he gave me in return is what spirals me into switching subjects. “Got quite the haul there.” Mirth trickles back into my tone. “Didn’t know we had any all-night grocery stores.”
“I got these before work,” he casually confesses during his rise to his feet.
“Yeah?” After adjusting the strap to my leather workbag, I ask, “How’d you know I wouldn’t cancel, making all that food you bought a waste?”
All of a sudden, a single stem white lily is presented for the taking. “Call it hope.”