Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
I must pull a face because her sister laughs. “We have lots of other kinds. We’ll try something else.”
I gasp, shocked. “You had other kinds? The whole time?”
Ignacia nods and shrugs. “They just aren’t my go-to. I figured any tea would be just as bad.”
“I can make us a London Fog if you’d like. We have an espresso machine, but I can make non-coffee drinks as well. It has a great milk frother steamer wand thing on the side.”
“That would be great. I’d love a London Fog to warm up,” I tell her.
Ignacia is soft with her sister, but as soon as her sister walks inside, she’s iron-hard with me. She stuffs her hands into her rain jacket pockets. Her dress goes down to her ankles, and even with rubber boots sticking out, the hemline is soaked. I like that the jacket is an oversized yellow slicker, the kind you see in old oil paintings with the fishermen.
I get up off my knee since I’m starting to feel absurd. I had this big apology planned out if she’d ever give me a chance to say it, but now all I can do is study her face and feel so much regret that I ever lied to her. I did it knowing it couldn’t be helped, but there was a lot I could help, and I’m a shitbag for the way I left. I let her throw me out when I should have fought for what we had. I should have confessed to feeling something. I was all over the place for the first time ever, and I had no idea how to own that. I had no idea I could make it my truth and live it.
Why the hell am I not saying any of this out loud?
“I thought about you every single second since I left.” Right. That’s a great start. Go straight for the creepy stalker factor because she didn’t get enough of that from her ex. “I’ve thought about your kindness, your talent, how you’re brilliant and forgiving and strong and tough, and how you aren’t afraid to feel anything. All of it made you a far better person than I can ever hope to be. You’re inspirational. Not just for your designs and all you’ve accomplished or because you survived out here on your own—well, that too, of course—but because, despite being the victim of a terrible crime and living with that hanging over your head, you survived, and you didn’t let it break the good parts of you.
“I used to think feelings and emotions and sappy crap were just disgusting, actually. I didn’t want to let them in. I was afraid to let them in. It wasn’t just how badly I was hurt. It was…I don’t know. Everything? All of life? The way people use each other and—okay. You don’t need my life story here.” She’s not tapping her foot, and she doesn’t look bored. “I used to think couples who were real and very obviously in love were the grossest, basest kind of people. I hated that wholesome, forever, we’re so happy, and we get stars in our eyes just from holding hands bullshit.”
“Great talk,” she cuts in. “Very inspirational, Beau.”
“No!” I’m prepared to race to the door and block it like a true arse, so she can’t go in and has to hear me out for another two minutes, but she doesn’t move.
I realize now she was joking. She’s not mad. She gets what I’m trying to say.
“Now I think those people might be smarter than I originally gave them credit for. I think they might have known all along something I needed to learn, and the only way I’ve ever gotten a lesson straight was to have it taught to me the hardest way possible,” I add.
“I don’t believe you. I think you used to be a perfectly nice person,” Ignacia says.
“That might be giving me too much credit. I’m not sure I was ever nice, even as a kid.”
“I think you were. And if you weren’t, it was only because you have a biting sense of humor, but it hadn’t sharpened into bitterness yet.” She sighs, crossing her arms in that huge slicker. “I hate that I’ve missed you. I hate that I couldn’t stay mad. I hate that I wanted to talk to you so badly that I’ve lost sleep over it for so many nights. I tried to go online to send you a message since that’s the only way I knew how to find you, but your account was already gone. I deleted mine as well. I’m not into doing that anymore since I have enough money to fix the place now. You paid me even though the whole thing was a sham.”
“It wasn’t. I—err…” I rake a hand over my hair. It’s sopping wet, and I get a secondary shower of raindrops cascading down my face. “It wasn’t all fake for me. Most of it was the truth. I couldn’t stop telling you things I wasn’t supposed to. I didn’t tell you everything, but I did—I did…I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t control myself. I kept slipping up and making mistakes. I want to regret them because it wasn’t me, but I can’t regret them. And maybe…maybe I want it to be me.”