Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Instead, I give a slow shake of my head. “Favorite food?”
“Oh, that one’s easy,” she says. “Oreos in milk. But they have to be Double-stuff Oreos, and they have to be in milk for the exact right amount of time.”
“And what is the exact right amount of time?”
“Long enough for the cookies to get soggy, but not so long that they fall apart.”
I smile. With her, it seems like I am just constantly smiling.
“Got it.”
We pull into the parking lot in front of her Aunt’s place, and I hop out of the truck, coming around to open her door for her. She slides down onto the pavement, her hand in mine. She doesn’t let go until we’ve come around to the back of the truck. One of Simon’s relatives had helped me get most of the stuff into the truck back at the estate sale, but now it’s just Tatum and me, faced with getting a whole lot of furniture up the stairs.
“It’s fine,” she says, sensing my hesitation. “We got this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. How hard could it be?”
The bedframe and side table I can handle on my own, same with the box spring. But the mattress, while not especially heavy, is unwieldy. I can get it off the truck fine, but I can’t keep a good grip on it.
“Here,” she says, grabbing the back end. “Let me help.”
We’re halfway to the door when I feel her drop her side of the mattress.
“Shit,” she hisses.
I glance over and find her on her knees on the pavement. I drop the mattress before she can make another sound.
“Tatum,” I say, crouching down at her side, “are you hurt?”
“It’s nothing,” she says, hissing sharply through her teeth. “I just tripped.” She drops back onto her bottom, revealing quite the scrape on both her knees. “I’m fine.”
Blood trickles down her legs. I rise and offer her my hand.
“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” I hoist her to her feet and have her lean on me, as we make our way up the steps to her unit, the mattress left sprawled on the pavement.
I bring her inside and sit her down on the sofa.
“I can manage, really,” she says.
“I’m sure you can. Just tell me where your first aid kit is anyway.”
She rolls her eyes but grins all the same, and points toward the hall. “In the bathroom, beneath the sink. It’s in a red canvas bag.”
I give a sharp nod and go to fetch it, overwhelmed by the scent of citrus in the bathroom. I locate the first aid kit and return to her side, opening it up to see what I have to work with. Gauze, Band-Aids, bacitracin. Good, good.
“And clean rags?”
“Cabinet at the end of the hall,” she says.
I glance back and catch her watching me, a curious expression on her face. Like she doesn’t understand why I’d bother. It’s only a scratch, her face says, as lines of blood race each other down the bare skin of both her shins.
I fetch a washcloth and avail myself to soap and water at the bathroom sink before returning to her side and kneeling in front of her.
“This might sting a little,” I warn, before pressing the cloth to her knee.
She winces but doesn’t flinch. I work as quickly and gently as I can, cleaning up both her legs. A few stubborn bits of gravel necessitate the use of the first-aid kit’s tweezers, but she shouldn’t need stitches. I clean the scrapes again with some hydrogen peroxide, put a dab of bacitracin on them, and bandage her up.
"There," I say, "good as new."
She stares down at me, and I up at her, a strange vantage point since I’m so used to towering above her when we’re both standing. It suddenly registers that my hand is resting just above her knee. I clear my throat, pulling away, but she catches that hand in her own and holds it.
“Tatum,” I say, my voice hovering just above a whisper.
“Shh… Don't say anything. I just wanna try something.” And she leans forward and presses her lips to mine.
Kissing Tatum feels like sweet relief, like the culmination of every fantasy I've had about her, every day for the past few years. Here she is, this beautiful girl, no longer just a photo in my wallet. I lift my hand to her face, gently cradling her cheek, and drink her in. Her lips part for me. I taste her sweetness, like mint and cinnamon.
The jingling of keys just outside the front door tickles my ears, ripping me out of the moment. We break apart and I spring to my feet just in time for Nina to make her entrance.
“Well,” she says with a warm smile, “hello there, Lucas Young.”
“Ma'am,” I say, with a nod of my head.
“Is that your stuff strewn about the driveway?”