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)
As is evidenced by Cole’s question. “You were speaking from the heart,” I tell him. “I thought it was a compassionate thing to share, the story about your dog and how Samuel is essentially your hero. Even if he didn’t remember it.”
“Well, I could tell Samuel was … feeling a certain way.”
“He always seems to be ‘feeling a certain way’,” I mumble.
“And I recognize there might be a conflict of interest between me and him.”
“How do you mean?”
He seems to struggle for an answer. Then: “Never mind.”
The park, which likely looks like nothing much any other time of the year, is covered in all kinds of holiday flair. The fences have leafy garlands with woven-in beads, bursts of blood red holly, and lights that I imagine look quite pretty after sundown. There are a number of people strolling along the paths like we are—some of them stopped at a pond to watch the ducks, others relaxing on the old, creaky-looking picnic tables, a guy and his girlfriend sitting under the shade of a tree reading books side-by-side. In the middle of the park against the backdrop of downtown Spruce to one side and what I take to be the high school in the distance on the other, a large, green Christmas tree has been erected, glittering with silver ornaments that sparkle in the afternoon sunlight. I can imagine its somewhat monochromatic splendor right now doesn’t compare to how it looks at night.
It’s in front of the big tree that Cole stops and faces me. “You know you’re not committed to me in any way, right?”
I blink. “Committed …?”
“Even if Mrs. Strong set us up and pushed us at each other in that very Mrs. Strong kind of way, I … I want to make sure you don’t feel any obligation towards me, if you get what I mean.”
I feel like I’m a step behind him. “What are you saying, Cole?”
“I’m not trying to say anything in particular. I just want you to know you’re allowed to keep your options open, y’know?”
“Are you trying to politely tell me you’re not interested?”
His eyes flash. “What? No, no …”
“You can just say it,” I tell him.
“I’m not rejecting you. That’s not what I meant at all.” He lets out an uncomfortable laugh, then gazes into my eyes. “I like you, Malcolm. I’m glad Mrs. Strong pushed us toward each other. If it weren’t for that, I’d … hmm … I’d probably be at home right now petting Porridge, feeling useless, and ultimately deciding to go to my cousins’ farm to see if they needed a hand. They always need a hand.” He winces. “Sorry, this is coming out weird.”
He just said a lot of words.
The only ones that really stick are: I like you, Malcolm.
“Let me rephrase.” He clears his throat. “What I’m saying is … is that, uh …”
“Yeah?”
He hesitates, appearing unsure. Then whatever words he had planned are turned into a hefty sigh, cast out of mind, and his face lightens up. “I’m overthinking. Forget it. I’m happy we had lunch together, and I look forward to getting to know you even better.”
We might have just pressed the ‘skip’ button on an important conversation. After the morning we had, I don’t mind. “Me, too.”
“Do you have to be back at the ranch by a certain time?”
“By six or so for dinner. Hey, maybe you can come? I’m pretty sure Nadine would love that.”
“That’s so thoughtful of you! See? You’re considerate. I wasn’t wrong.” Cole chuckles, then stuffs his hands into his pockets. “But I think I’d rather not overstay my welcome. The Strongs have a lot on their plates this week, pun intended.”
“Oh.”
“Do you want to walk around town a little more?” he suggests. “It’s unseasonably warm for December. Don’t even need a jacket. I don’t think there’s that much to show you, admittedly, other than our biggest Christmas tree, which you’re seeing now, and maybe a few cool spots around town, if you’re up to it. Fairview is probably a lot more interesting than here, what with your big ol’ mall and your Starbucks …” he says while making a funny face.
Even the funny face he makes is somehow stunning.
Eyes adorably crossed, just enough to be cute.
Tongue poking out to the side, not too much to be obnoxious.
It’s strangely, inexplicably, irrationally adorable.
How does he pull that off? His “funny faces” look so perfectly sculpted, as if a team of highly-trained professionals rehearsed, directed, and tediously edited his facial expressions until every test audience on Earth confirmed unanimously that Cole Harding makes the most adorable faces no one can mathematically or scientifically find unattractive in any possible way.
I realize I sound kind of insane.
Obsessed, even.
I’ve been hung up on perfection most of my life.
It’s what I thought I needed in order to get the best grades in school, make the best friends, and make the best first impressions. Top-notch wardrobe. Top-notch hygiene. Top-notch everything.