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)
He rubs the back of his neck. “Do I miss them? So much that thinking about it feels as debilitating as the cancer. Do I regret leaving when I did and the way I did? No. I’m going to go home and be with them again, and I have to hope that they will be so relieved that I’m alive and well that they will forgive me for what I felt I had to do to stay alive.”
“And me?”
Price lifts his gaze.
“Will you tell your wife about me? Does she know I exist? Does she know you bought the store where we met?”
Realization ghosts along his face. “You went to the store.”
I nod. “Why did you do that?”
He slowly shakes his head. “It was a business decision. They were going out of business. Real estate is a good investment. And that was the only place in town that carried those specific crystal butt plugs.”
I snort. “Stop.”
Price scoots closer to me, pressing my hand between both of his. “You were my first love. You showed me what it felt like to fall in love. And it’s how I knew Amelia would be my wife. You are a good person—a truly compassionate, positive, shining soul. And you loved that store. And I loved our love story, albeit short. So I bought it to keep it open, to keep that summer alive forever, and to keep a tiny piece of your light in my life forever because I think some of the best parts of Price Milloy come from the summer he met Scottie Rucker.”
I thought the tears were done. I was wrong.
He smiles while I wipe my face. “No. Amelia doesn’t know about you. She doesn’t even know I own that building.”
I sniffle. “That’s not right, Price.”
He nods. “Honesty is virtuous. You have me beat in that department. I won’t try to pretend otherwise. But compassion often lies somewhere between the truth and the omission of truth. I didn’t tell you the truth when I entered the store months back, but you knew something wasn’t right. Yet, you didn’t push me on it because, deep down, you weren’t sure you were ready for the truth.”
I pull my hand from his and dig through my purse for a tissue. “It’s been twelve years. She deserves full disclosure.”
With an easy, thoughtful nod, he hums. “She deserves a lot. And I believe I will live to give her everything. Are you marrying a man who will give you everything?”
I can’t speak past the emotion thick in my throat, so I nod.
Price waits, unafraid of the silence.
I’ve never sat this long in silence with another person.
Eventually, my composure returns, and the words come to me. “I’m marrying the man who feels secure enough to let me be a little in love with another man.”
The tiniest smile touches his lips.
“I’m marrying the man who I trust with the most vulnerable pieces of myself. I never thought I’d tell another soul outside of my family about the baby I lost before telling you first. But I had to tell Koen because I’ve given him my heart, which means I trust him with everything in it.”
He’s the one who will carefully glue those vulnerable pieces together, gently wrap them in tape, and always see me as whole.
Just the mention of his name makes me miss him. So I slide my phone from my purse and text him to come pick me up. Then I stand, slinging my bag over my shoulder as Price stares at the open journal with his wife staring back at him. “It’s time for me to go home.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
IT’S BEEN TOO LONG, BUT MAYBE NOT LONG ENOUGH.
Price
“Sir, do you need help with something?” the driver asks as I stare at my condo from the back seat of her black sedan.
Spring is in full bloom. The cherry blossoms have passed their peak, but the showy white magnolias are stunning.
“I’m good. Thank you,” I say, opening the door.
After I retrieve my suitcase from the trunk, I push past the fear and make my way to the front door of my gray stone condo.
It’s quiet when I step inside the entry. Astrid should still be in school. I didn’t check the garage for Amelia’s car. As I set my suitcase on the marble floor, I sense movement above me. Glancing up, my wife grips the railing at the top of the stairs with one hand while her other cups her mouth.
In a blink, tears pour down her face. And I’m left feeling just as vulnerable because I love this woman beyond all reason.
Long waves of blonde hair flow down her shoulders, a little unruly, like she let it air dry after a shower. Her dark jeans fit looser than the last time I saw her, and she’s wearing one of my white dress shirts, tied at the waist.