Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I pack up snacks for the children to bring with them when Owen is done teaching them today. Right now he’s sparring with them. I don’t care for the idea of children fighting, but Owen reminds me it’s for protection. That everyone should know how to protect themselves.
As If sensing my stare, he looks over at me and gives me a wink. That small gesture goes straight to my core.
Everything he does seems to do that to me. I can’t stop staring at him, wanting to touch him. Lying in bed with him each night is bittersweet. I’ve never felt so safe or slept more soundly than I have with him by my side. I should’ve been terrified that first night, but I wasn’t.
I jumped into bed with a man I didn’t know, but for some reason it felt like I knew him. I felt deep down that I was safe with him. That he’d never hurt me. That he'd hurt himself before he’d ever let something happen to me.
The man might be a giant and a little scary looking at times, but seeing him with the children only deepens this longing I feel for him. It’s easy to tell he’s a man of authority. When he speaks people listen. He’s stern but understanding, and that’s what makes a good teacher. Although to be fair, he looks more like a warrior.
While he doesn’t agree with some of the things I say, he listens to my reasoning. At times I feel like I might be teaching him, too. My soft approach to the world brushing against his hard one, maybe finding a way to make both ways come together. I see reason to some of the things he believes and I can tell from his eyes when I talk he feels the same thing about some of the things I say.
“All right, kids. Grab your bags. You have your assignments,” he tells them. They rush over to the bags Owen set up this morning. I added some food to them and then I noticed notes in the bottom of the bags. Maybe they’re their assignments.
“Miss Minnie, are you Owen’s wife?” one of the little boys asks, looking up at me. He can’t be more than ten years old.
I blush. Owen walks over to me, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me into him. The action takes me by surprise. It’s not the first time he’s touched me. Light brushes have lingered when we pass one another. And let’s not forget about how each morning we wake wrapped around each other. No matter how hard I try to stay on my side of the bed, we always end up in the center.
“No, I’m not his wife.” I tell him the truth.
I do notice how the idea of being married to Owen doesn't scare me. Not even a little. It’s the first time I've ever thought about being married and not felt utter dread over it. How wonderful would it be if I could just marry Owen and stay on this side of the wall.
Owen grunts before handing the little boy his bag. They all take off running out of the building and Owen’s arm drops from around me. He heads towards the door, locking it behind the kids. He turns and leans up against it with his eyes on me. Like always, my body responds to his stare. It’s too intimate, as if he can see through my clothes.
These feelings are so foreign to me. I’ve never been drawn to a man before. It’s crazy and exciting as all these things wake up inside me. It’s even crazier that Owen is the one making them happen. I want to explore all that I feel with him, then wonder if he’s ever been with a woman before. What if he already has a woman? That would be impossible. I would have seen her by now. Right? He would have mentioned her. I can’t see him sharing a bed with me if he had someone in his life. But my mind produces doubt when I think about the fact that there’s nowhere else to sleep.
I glance away from him as jealousy and hurt flow through me. That boy asked if I was his wife. He must think he has one. It must be why Owen hasn’t kissed me or tried to make a move on me. I’m starting to wonder. I’ve given him a few opportunities for something a little more—leaning into him a couple of times and tilting my head back. Nothing. He always turns and walks away, stomping in anger.
Maybe he’s angry because he’s married and I’m inviting something that isn’t welcome. Embarrassment floods me, along with a feeling of loss. The loneliness that was slipping away over the past few days starts rising again. I turn, giving Owen my back so he can’t see the tears in my eyes. I don’t know why I feel betrayed, but I do. The hurt is bone deep.