Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I shake my head.
“No cell phone.”
She already knows this, but I affirm her statement anyway.
“Who are you?” she whispers through her grin. “An outcast?”
Scottie’s proud of me. And while I don’t need that from her, it’s still nice not to feel judged.
“I love you, Price. In a purely non-sexual way.”
I twist my lips for a few seconds. “I think outcasts rarely get laid anyway, so I’d expect you to love me in a purely non-sexual way.”
She rolls her eyes before pivoting and returning to the kitchen. “If you need to get laid, I can find you a nice girl.”
“You marry nice girls. You get laid by dirty girls.”
Her face flushes. “Fine. I’ll find you a dirty girl.”
“As dirty as you used to be?”
She curls her hair behind her ear and averts her gaze. “I was a virgin. You were the dirty older man who made me unclean.”
I finish my water and set the glass by the sink. “It would have been nice to know about your virginity before I was in the process of unknowingly taking it.”
Scottie fiddles with the empty sacks, folding them and sliding them into the larger one. “In other news … I couldn’t control my emotions when Koen came home. And when I told him I couldn’t share why I was so upset, it didn’t go over well.”
“Yet, you’re moving in with him even though you’re scared of getting lost in him.”
She eyes me, teeth trapping her lower lip. “Bad idea?”
“Scottie,” I cross my arms and lean against the counter, “if you find someone who loves you for you, and you love them for who they are, then you’ve found what everyone else is looking for.”
“Are you looking for that?”
“Okay, maybe not everyone, but a lot of people. Outcasts battling life-threatening illnesses are exempt.”
“Exempt from happiness?”
“Exempt from caring about the needs of others.”
Her head juts backward. “That’s harsh.”
“But true.”
She doesn’t argue. “What kind of cancer?”
“The kind you don’t need to know. The kind that you don’t need to research. The kind you don’t need to obsess over.”
Scottie returns a pouty face. It’s irresistible, but I manage to resist.
“How can I help you—”
“Stop. I don’t need your help. I just need you.”
“Price, you can’t have me.”
“I already do.” I push off the counter. “Go home. Drive safely. I need sleep.”
She follows me to the door and slips on her shoes. She doesn't hesitate for a second when she glances up at me. Her arms encircle my neck, and she hugs me with all she has to give.
“Red blood cells,” she murmurs. “Hugging builds red blood cells. Make sure you hug everyone you see.” Her lips press to my cheek, and it’s more than a friendly gesture, but it’s not romantic either.
I don’t know what we are, but it’s all I have, so I don’t try to define it because the easiest way to lose things is by labeling them—devaluing them with the simplicity of a word.
She steps outside.
“Scottie?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t lose Koen because of me. Keeping him is more important than keeping my secret.”
I can’t read her expression, but it softens after a few seconds. “I really do love you.”
I’ve heard people say that cancer is a gift. I never understood it until now.
“And I you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MARRY THE MAN WHO TREATS YOU LIKE A COW.
Scottie
“Are you going to be my granddaughter-in-law?” Herb asks, pushing his cart of fruit to the counter.
I didn’t think anything could beat the phone-on-speaker conversation. I was wrong.
“Uh …” I laugh nervously, weighing his produce. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Oh. The boy said you were moving in with him.”
“I am.”
Herb inspects me through narrowed eyes. I’ve never seen him be anything but jovial and full of smiles. Even a little flirty. This is the opposite of all those things.
“Surely not out of wedlock.”
Uh-oh …
“We haven’t ironed out all of the details. It’s not happening today or anything like that.”
Tomorrow.
Koen took tomorrow off to help me move my things. I told him I didn’t need help. I have limited belongings. But I think he’s a little anxious about me messing up his organization, hence the “help.”
“Phew.” He relaxes. “You had me going there for a minute.”
With a nervous “tee-hee,” I slide the produce into his reusable bag. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“His grandma, God rest her soul, would turn over in her grave if the boy didn’t first make you an honest woman.” He holds up his index finger and waggles it at me. “Don’t let him have the milk before he buys the cow.”
I choke on a bit of saliva. Is this really happening? Did he not hear us upstairs on Valentine’s Day? “No,” I say. “Uh … of course not. But I don’t think of myself as a cow.”
“It’s just an expression. But really, cows were once sacred. Think of it as a compliment.”