Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
It’s that final piece to us. That one thing that was unforgivable about us was our inability to endure. If love isn’t enduring, I’m not sure it’s really love.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Eric
I’m not letting her go.
That’s it.
If you focus on the central underlying theme of romances that have happily ever afters, there’s one simple thing the heroine wants—for the hero never to let go.
She wants to feel pursued, irreplaceable and understood. She doesn’t want to feel less than anything or anyone. She wants you to walk beside her and have her back. And some days, she might need you to catch her if she starts to fall.
And if you can love her flaws, she will make you her world.
Spoiler alert: Being her world is better than winning the fucking lottery.
Anna’s out. I could stare at her face all day. Her long hair on the pillow. Her red lips in a soft smile like she’s dreaming of something really good. I hope I’m in that dream. Sliding out of her bed, I use the bathroom and grab a glass of water. When I nudge her mouse to the counter's edge, her computer screen wakes up.
She wasn’t kidding. If the suitcase wasn’t enough proof, the resignation letter before me seals the deal. I’m not trying to snoop, but I can’t not notice the partially visible document behind her resignation letter. Curiosity trumps her privacy. I’m a good guy, but I’m not Jesus.
It takes a few paragraphs before I let what I’m reading register. She’s writing our story.
“What’s your one-word first impression?” Anna asks in a sleepy voice.
I slowly turn. She pulls my T-shirt over her naked body and dangles her legs over the edge of the bed. I don’t detect an ounce of anger or even nervousness. Her calmness twists my heart.
She trusts my love for her.
I love this woman completely.
And I may never find a job that feels like my calling. But I’ve figured out what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be in her world in whatever capacity she’ll have me.
Anna Black’s_________.
“Perfect.”
She grins, shaking her head. “Liar.”
“You know me.” I sit beside her and pull her onto my lap so she’s straddling me, and her arms encircle my neck. “I’m incapable of lying about a book.”
Her face softens, but her grin still holds a hint of uncertainty.
I kiss from her neck to her jaw. “Baby, our story is perfect.”
She slides a hand through my hair, and it’s the best feeling in the world. I live for her touch, the way I live for every smile, and those most fantastic moments when she laughs.
Anna nods. “It’s almost perfect … just like you.”
“You could be a published author.”
“I know. But I also know it’s okay not to pursue that dream. It’s okay to love something and not be the best at it. It’s not failure. You helped me see that.”
“Anna—”
“Kiss me.” She grins. “Call me your baby.” She kisses my neck. “And tell me I’m pretty. It’s all I need.”
EPILOGUE
The morning after Eric arrived in Spain, I messaged my mom.
Anna: I’m in love
Anna: Not pregnant
Anna: No STDs
Anna: But if he asks me to marry him, I’m saying yes
Anna: Plan accordingly
Mom: Is this a joke?
Anna: No joke
I deleted my resignation letter.
Eric found us a modest house with a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean.
He’s continued his freelance writing for online publications, working from home. And I’ve been climbing the ladder at the PR firm.
In the evenings, we polish our story.
“I don’t know why you’re obsessing over this,” I say to him, wedging myself between him and the desk to see where he’s at with the story.
He kisses my shoulder before resting his chin on it. “Yes, you do.”
“I’m not publishing it,” I remind him for the millionth time.
“It’s such a great story.”
I roll my eyes. He’s been saying that for months while calling it our labor of love. Eric added chapters from his point of view and tweaked the dialogue where he thought I “misrepresented” him.
Again, it doesn’t matter because no one besides us will ever read it.
“The ending, Anna. There’s not really an ending.”
I scroll to the last page. “We’re not over. How can there be an ending?”
“Readers will want a happily ever after.”
“What readers?” I laugh, twisting my neck to glance back at him.
He hasn’t shaved in nearly a week. He’s at his sexiest with his scruffy face, hair a tad longer around his ears, faded navy tee, and jeans. His hands hike up the skirt of my dress so he can rest them on my bare legs. Eric’s obsessed with having a part of his body touching mine as much as possible. He says I ground him like I say my feet buried in the sand on the beach grounds me.
“Maybe Eric buys Anna a dog.”
I giggle. Nothing makes me happier than when we talk about our story and use our own names like we didn’t live it. “You think Eric buying Anna a dog is a good ending? Must be quite the dog.”