Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Can I ask you something?” I said. “Did you buy me this? Like as a gift or something?”
Dexter frowned before putting a piece of cheese on his cracker. “Yeah. I said that before. That I got you a gift.”
Those hadn’t been his exact words. He’d said he had something for me—slightly more ambiguous, and a lot less overwhelming. I wanted to know for sure when I opened the box on my lap what it was for and why. “You don’t need to give me presents,” I said, staring at the box, half itching to open it, half scared to see what was inside.
“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “You want me to open it?” He reached for the box and I held it out of his way.
I pulled at the thin brown ribbon then lifted the lid. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to see but what I got was white tissue paper.
I pulled open the tissue to find fabric that looked like silk—proper silk, not the rayon imitators in my wardrobe. It was printed in the most beautiful colors—every blue and green that had ever been. “What is it?”
“You keep asking me the same questions and I’m going to keep giving you the same answers,” he said. “Pull it out, for goodness sake.” This time he got hold of a corner and pulled the silk from its box, letting it float in a canopy over our heads. The peacock colors swirled above us like the most gorgeous indoor parachute.
“Careful,” I said, jumping up and catching it as it floated down toward our cheese picnic.
“It’s a scarf,” he said as I held the fabric in front of me like it was a picture I was deciding where to hang.
“It’s beautiful.” It was more than that. It was breathtaking. Stunning. It was the kind of scarf that let you know immediately who someone was—sophisticated, well-travelled and college-educated.
Disappointment roiled in my stomach.
I was none of those things.
I glanced over at him and he shrugged. “I saw it in the window and it reminded me of you—your eyes. Your hair. I thought you’d like it.”
Someone cut the cable in my ribcage and my heart landed with a thud in a pool of mixed emotion. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. And then a voice inside my head whispered, Go home. You don’t belong here.
“You okay?” he asked. “Shouldn’t I have bought it?”
“It’s just not . . .” How could I explain what I was feeling when I didn’t know myself? He bought me a gift. I should be giddy. Instead I wanted to throw some clothes on and get on the next plane back to Oregon. I’d never felt so far away from home.
“Hey,” he said and pulled me onto his lap. “Did I do something wrong?”
I wanted to push off his lap, get away, but I didn’t want to be ungrateful. “It was really nice of you,” I said, my fingers fiddling with the buttons on the shirt I was wearing.
“Do you hate it?” he asked.
I shook my head. No one could have hated something so beautiful.
“Was it inappropriate? I thought it might be but Stella convinced me to go with my gut. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. I can take it back, even.”
Inappropriate wasn’t quite the right word, but it was in the neighborhood. “Maybe not inappropriate but . . . it wouldn’t be right on me.”
Dexter cupped my face in his hands. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Hollie Lumen. Because I know it would suit you.”
If I’d learned anything about Dexter over these weeks, it was that he was like a dog with a bone—determined and driven. I wasn’t going to get him to change the subject unless the building was on fire. “I wasn’t thinking about whether or not it would suit me.”
“Then I hope it’s not because you don’t think you’re worth it.”
It was as if the lights went out and someone had sucked all the oxygen from the room. Five minutes ago, we’d been eating cheese and quoting our favorite films. Why had things suddenly gotten so deep?
Why was Dexter wondering what I thought I was worth? I’d been thinking I would never wear a silk scarf once I went back to Oregon, that it would sit in its box the rest of its life. And that led to a thousand more questions. After spending time in London, how could I go back? Would I be successful in getting a job at a jewelers in New York? And even if I did, wherever I was, whatever job I was doing, would I always be Hollie Lumen from the trailer park?
Of course I would.
I’d never have a reason to wear a scarf so expensive and beautiful. My die was cast.
The scarf represented a life I’d never have and a woman I’d never be.