Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“I remember you,” he replied, elbowing me lightly.
“No you don’t.”
He laughed again. “Swear.”
“Why?” I asked dubiously. “It’s the skirts, right? Anyone else can wear a skirt but just because I do I’m weird.”
“It wasn’t the skirts,” he said, his laughter fading. “Did kind of wonder about that, though.”
“My parents think females should wear skirts,” I answered simply. There were far more detailed reasons, but I wasn’t willing to get into them when I had this beautiful man’s full attention.
“Got it,” he replied, nodding. “Well, it wasn’t the skirts anyway. It was the hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” I demanded, reaching for the bun at the back of my head. Everyone wore buns in their hair, it was cool! The other girls wore them messier than I wore mine, but they were basically the same hairstyle.
“Nothin’ wrong with it,” he said, watching as I smoothed my hand over it. “I just always wondered what it looked like down.”
“Oh.” I dropped my hand. Okay, that wasn’t so bad.
For the first time in my entire life, I cared that this guy didn’t think I was a freak.
“It’s so thick,” he murmured, shrugging. He opened his water and took a drink. “It’s long, huh?”
“Pretty long, yeah.”
“I bet it’s heavy.”
“It gives me a headache sometimes,” I agreed, ruefully.
“You ever wear it down?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Only at home.”
We were quiet for a few minutes, watching as the crowd around the bonfire grew louder and rowdier. The two of us weren’t that far away from the group, but our little place in the darkness still felt isolated somehow. Separate.
“So, Esther,” he said, glancing down at me with a smile. “I’m guessin’ this isn’t really your scene.”
I let out a choked laugh at the amusement in his words and shook my head.
“Not really,” I replied. His smile was contagious.
“What would you rather be doin’ right now?” he asked, relaxing against the hood of the car.
“Reading,” I replied immediately. “Or knitting.”
“Party animal,” he teased. “My mom knits.”
“I can make clothing from strings,” I said loftily, lifting my hands and wiggling my fingers. “Don’t knock it.”
“You make any of that?” he asked, waving his hand toward my clothes.
I held back a snort. “No, these were bought from a store,” I replied dryly. “Probably the same one you shop at.”
“Doubt that,” he chuckled.
“What do you like to do for fun?”
“Hang out with my brothers,” he said after a moment. “Work on my house—”
“You have your own house?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
“I do.” He nodded. “It’s a pile, so I’m always workin’ on shit, but it’s mine.”
“That’s so cool.”
He grinned and my stomach flipped over. “You’ll have to come by sometime. I’ll show you around.”
I smiled back but couldn’t hold his gaze. We both knew that I’d never in a million years see his house. The chance of us ever speaking again was practically non-existent.
I was playing with fire. I knew I should say thank you for the drink and walk away. I didn’t know him from Adam, and I’d probably never see him again. I should say goodbye and go find Becka and get the heck out of there before my parents noticed that we weren’t where we’d said we’d be.
But I couldn’t make myself go. I wanted to soak in the moment just a little longer. He was so perfect. Nice and huge and handsome.
Someday soon, my parents would find a man that they thought was a good match, and we’d court for a while, fully chaperoned, and then we’d eventually get married and have kids and my entire world would consist of housework and weekly trips to the grocery store and I was fine with that. Mostly. It was what I’d been raised to expect. I honestly couldn’t imagine anything different.
But I’d also probably never feel the nervous butterflies in my stomach again, and that felt like such a tragedy. I told myself I’d stay just a few more minutes and then I’d go find Becka.
“I’m kind of obsessed with your hair,” he blurted out of nowhere.
“You’re what?” I asked incredulously, looking back at him. He was scrubbing a hand over his face sheepishly, his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“There’s so damn much of it,” he mumbled in embarrassment.
“I’m pretty sure I have a normal amount of hair.”
“You don’t,” he replied, shaking his head. “Have you ever cut it?”
“Of course I’ve cut it.” I rolled my eyes. The conversation was getting really weird, but I couldn’t help but be intrigued. He was staring at me. Me.
Invisible Esther.
I was sure that I’d never held anyone’s attention before. It was a heady sensation, to say the least.
“Bullshit,” he said, his lips twitching.
“I’ve trimmed it,” I clarified, crossing my arms over my chest. “If I didn’t, it would get all stringy at the ends.”
“Can’t have that,” he replied in amusement.