Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Hmmm.” I was mesmerized by her knowledge and passion.
Suddenly, Reba frowned. “But for a new lover?”
I raised my eyebrows.
Scarlett shook her head. “Not sexy enough. Where’s the passion?”
Nodding, Reba headed off to the center of the store and stood in front of a glass display filled inks. “Perhaps, these rare inks would be good.”
“Why are they rare?”
“This blue ink,” she pointed, “comes from a flower that blooms once in a decade. Imagine the depth it adds to a piece of art.”
“That is pretty interesting.”
Scarlett eyed it. “A flower that blooms once in a decade? That must make the ink incredibly valuable.”
“Indeed.” Reba bobbed her head. “But more than its monetary value, it’s the emotional connection it creates. The artist who uses it must understand its rarity and pour that understanding into their work.”
Scarlett shrugged. “Yeah, but how much does it cost?”
Reba frowned. “$1,000 per bottle.”
“Oh no.” I stepped away. “He’s a new lover, not I’m married to him and pregnant with our first child.”
A smile returned to Reba’s face. “Now, I understand.”
“Yeah.” Scarlett waved away the shelf. “We’re looking for gifts under $20.”
“Not $20. I can do up to $100, but I would rather keep it decent.” I gazed around. “I’ve suddenly found myself on a budget these days.”
“Then, I have an idea.” Reba led us further away.
Right as she was taking us to a new aisle, I spotted all of these sketchbooks. “Oh, wait.”
I walked over to the display and found myself drawn to the leather-bound sketchbooks, touching their covers and imagining Tristan’s hands on them.
“One of these could be perfect.”
Reba and Scarlett came over to take a look.
“Yeah. These are all beautiful.” Scarlett picked up another.
And then I found it—an exquisite leather-bound sketchbook, its cover embossed with intricate designs, its pages creamy and untouched. It seemed to pulse with potential, waiting to be filled with the intimate secrets of an artist’s soul.
I could almost see Tristan’s fingers stroking its pages, his eyes filled with the same passion and intensity he’d shown me last night.
Yeah. This is it.
For some reason, I felt an immediate connection to the sketchbook. “Tell me about this one.”
Reba smiled. “It was made by a local craftsman. Each page is hand-torn and treated to embrace the ink just so. It’s waiting for the right artist to fill it with life.”
I looked at the sketchbook, feeling its pull. “It’s perfect. I think. . .he’ll love it.”
Reba bobbed her head. “I believe you’re right.”
Minutes later, I was at the counter making my purchase.
And I didn’t want to admit it, but the sketchbook felt heavy in my hands, not with its physical weight, but with the meaning it held.
I didn’t buy gifts for guys after a first date. Nor the second, third, or fourth. Presents were reserved for birthdays and Christmas.
But, I’d been called to give Tristan something, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
What did it mean that I felt this urge to get him something, so strongly?
My thoughts were interrupted when I happened to glance towards the window.
Outside, standing just across the street, a tall man was watching me. His gaze was intense, almost predatory, and a chill ran down my spine.
He looked strangely familiar, his features distorted by the reflection in the glass, but I was certain I’d seen him before.
Where did I see him?
The memory clicked into place.
Poe’s cafe.
He had been there, seated at a corner table, his eyes on me then too.
Panic welled inside me.
Oh hell no.
I turned to Scarlett and grabbed her arm.
“Look behind me.” My voice trembled. “That man outside, he was at Poe’s café earlier. He’s watching me.”
Scarlett turned, her eyes wide as she looked out the window. “What man?”
I returned my view to him.
The man was gone.
The street was busy, filled with people going about their day, but the tall man had vanished without a trace.
“What man, Nova?” Scarlett put her view on me.
“There was a guy outside that I saw before.”
“Are you sure?”
I shivered. “Yeah.”
“Maybe, I’ve just got you freaked out about the whole woman-being-set-on-fire talk.”
“Maybe.” I wanted to believe her, to dismiss the sighting as a product of my imagination, but the fear lingered, gnawing at the edges of my mind.
The joy I’d felt in finding the perfect gift for Tristan had been replaced with an unsettling dread.
Who was he?
Chapter Seventeen
Love in the Ring
Earlier, when I woke up, it took a moment for my surroundings to come into focus.
The glow of the TV screen was sharp against the darkness of the room, and my chair felt stiff and uncomfortable under me.
Clearly, I had fallen asleep watching Nova sleep.
That was when I noticed Nova was on the screen in front of me.
There, she caressed the tie as her eyes held this far-off longing.
I couldn’t lie.
Just when I thought I was going to get a round two of her rubbing that sweet pussy against my tie, her roommate rushed in.