Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“Hm.” He fidgets with his hat. “Sounds hopeful.”
“What?”
“Your dad. He sounds hopeful.”
“For what? More like sad.” I glance back out the window. The couple is still within view, but farther down the street, admiring fake snowflakes dangling from the front of some Tumbleweeds bar.
“Sad. Hopeful. They aren’t mutually exclusive. I’m sad some days,” he admits as he continues poking and tracing a finger along the brim of his hat. “But it doesn’t stop me from hoping that one of these days, my life could be less lonely.”
“Or you can add some stability to your life by accepting things the way they are and stop dragging your sad feelings through the mud.” I shrug. “I think hope, on its own, is literally useless.”
That takes Samuel aback. “Hope is useless?”
“On its own, yes.”
“Hope isn’t useless.”
“Yes, it is. You can cry yourself to sleep watching sad movies every night like my dad does, feeling lonely, and hoping the person of your dreams just falls into your lap like a bag of salt and vinegar chips. But without action, hope does nothing. It’s useless.”
“Action.” He spits that word like it’s the stupidest word that has ever existed. “What ‘action’ are you referring to? Signing up for some silly dating app?”
“Doesn’t matter what the action is. Once you do it, you realize you don’t need hope anymore. You just start doing and living.”
Samuel leans across to me. “So tell me, O Wise One, what is Malcolm doin’ and livin’ to keep away from hopin’?”
I cross my arms. “We’re not talking about me.”
“That so?” He props an elbow up on the table right by me and brings his face closer. “Tell me what’s going on with you and those two adorable grooms back at the house.”
My chest turns to ice. I frown. “None of your business.”
“Of course it’s my business. I was part of your escape plan. I’m all involved now. I gotta know the tea.”
“You said we didn’t have to talk about—”
“Within the confines of my Mortimer,” he reminds me. “We aren’t in the car anymore.”
I look away. It doesn’t help me ignore the fact that his pretty eyes still pierce the side of my face.
He uses that power by inching even closer. “I got a suspicion I know what it is, but I’m afraid to voice it.”
“Better listen to that fear,” I advise him coolly.
“It’s about Bobby, isn’t it? You’ve got feelings for him?”
I close my eyes, as if afraid they’ll show too much.
Apparently, that’s all the confirmation he needs. “Well, I’ll be damned. Right on the first try.”
“Shush.”
“And now cock-of-the-block Jimmy Strong is marryin’ the guy you want, and you’re forced to attend ‘cause your daddy’s catering the whole damned thing. Shoot, that’s gotta be tough.”
“I said shush.”
“Why? No one’s here. TJ’s in the back. It’s just us.” He lowers his voice. “You can talk to me, Malcolm. I’m a vault. What you say stays with me. Promise.”
The soft way he’s speaking now reminds me of his breath on my neck when I was caught in the tree. The gentle way he touched me. How his breath felt against the tiny hairs on the back of my neck, inspiring chills of delight. The way his soft, sweet, crackling voice seemed to permeate my bones, infiltrating my very soul.
He is incredibly seductive in that way.
I’ve never felt so emotionally disarmed by anyone before.
Maybe I can trust him. Maybe he’s exactly what I need to get through this week. Maybe if I’d just open up my door, even just a crack, I might discover something about myself.
Or maybe it’s a fool’s game to hope for anything anymore.
“Doesn’t matter now,” I decide to say, popping open my eyes and forcing them through the window. “They’ll be married in just three more days. Whatever happened between us in the past should stay buried in the deep, dark grave of our memories. It’s bad luck to dig up the dead.”
“Also illegal,” adds Samuel.
I crack a smile.
Then I wipe that smile away as quickly as it appeared—but not before Samuel notices it and smirks. “There it is.”
“There what is?” I throw back, annoyed.
“And I don’t care what you think,” he goes on. “It feels good to hope. And also, I do think I’m the lucky guy Nadine was tryin’ to set you up with.” He lifts his chin with pride, looking self-assured, like nothing can change his mind. “Yep. It’s me. I’m the guy.”
“You can think whatever you want.”
“I think you’re a housecat.”
I turn to him. “I’m a what?”
“Fits you best. Maybe an American Shorthair. Or Burmese. Or maybe something a bit more reserved, like a fluffy, cold-weather-bearin’ Norwegian Forest cat, all thick and furry and cozy.”
“The hell you going on about?”
“Trying to figure out your animal. I always try to figure out someone’s animal when I’m gettin’ to know them.”