Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“Do you want to check to see who they’re from?” I ask, offering him my phone.
“No,” is all he says. I wait in silence, and he finally adds, “I sent out my new number this morning. If it’s important they’ll contact me again.”
“Okay. Wait. I forgot,” I say. “Your mom also left a message. She was very excited about Ava coming home and asked what she should bake for the party.”
This time he goes so far as to flinch. Whatever went down between him and his ex is intense. Way beyond your usual relationship drama. Though having over a decade of dating history will do that.
“So, you work with horses?” I ask.
“No. Cars.”
“Cars?”
“Yes,” he says, his gaze bemused.
“Huh,” I say. “I didn’t even think of that, but it does make sense. Ford Mustangs and Broncos and the Dodge Colt, of course.”
An awkward silence follows. He stands there, taking up all the space. While I refuse to break and make polite conversation. I want to see what he does. After a moment, he looks around the room, clears his throat, and asks, “Have you blocked her?”
“You mean Ava?”
There’s the flinch again. “Yeah.”
“No. She actually helped me find Martha today.”
“Thank you for that. For picking her up.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t work. It’s as if the parameters for happiness have not been met and thus the expression is just a shallow attempt at meeting social norms. The ladies said he tended to be quiet. But he doesn’t seem to have too much trouble talking to me. Not once he gets going, at least.
“No problem.” I shut my mouth again and prepare to wait him out. Which is when I remember, “Oh. Yumi called Sunday night as well. She seems nice.”
The man freezes.
“Breathe, Connor. I didn’t tell your grandma about your sex friend. You’re safe.”
“But you did tell her about your chats with my ex.” His mouth is in a flat, unfriendly line as he strangles his ballcap with those big hands. It seems he is experiencing equally big feelings.
“Firstly, I didn’t mean to tell Martha about it,” I say. “But those cookies Joyce’s daughter makes are strong.”
A grunt from him.
“Secondly, Connor, all I wanted was a new number, not an introduction to your life. It was your ex, not me, who spread this bullshit about us dating all over town. Something I most definitely could have lived without. Your grandma heard about it and wanted to know the truth. And I, ever so slightly under the influence, told her what happened as it pertained to me, which is my right. The end.”
He scowls down at me, and I scowl up at him and…shit. I blink first. His lips curl slightly at the edges in victory and he says, “Your eyes are still a little red.”
“Wonderful.” I collapse into the nearest chair. “Was there anything else you wanted?”
He wearily rubs his face with one hand. “What are you, a lawyer or a teacher or something?”
“No. I’m a writer.”
“What kind of writer?” he asks, daring to move deeper into the room. Then he sees the stack of books on my desk. “You write romance?”
The way I physically, emotionally, and spiritually brace myself for the shit that is sure to follow. “Yes.”
But he just nods. That’s it.
Huh. “Did you get your quiet weekend?”
“Yeah,” he says, sounding vaguely surprised. “I did.”
“Good.”
He gives me a long look. No idea what he’s thinking. Then he sits his firm, denim-clad ass on the edge of the sofa. Like he might still make a run for it but has yet to decide. “I didn’t get a bunch of messages about her today either, which was great.”
“You mean about your ex?”
He nods. “They all think I’m with you.”
“You really can’t bring yourself to say her name?”
“I really don’t want to.”
“Fair enough,” I say. And then dare to say some more. “People around here sure have opinions about you two. Given you’re no longer together, the messages from your friends and family were a surprise. It seems to be taken for granted that whenever she comes back…”
Another grunt.
“Must be annoying.”
“That’s one word for it.” He sighs. “I did get some messages about you this morning. People wanting to meet you. But those don’t bother me in the same way.”
I give him some side eye. “Okay.”
Were he a character in a book, his backstory would be about a broken heart making him disdainful and distrustful. This would probably be a grumpy-sunshine story. Those are often quite popular. Me being the sunshine character would be a challenge. But it could work. Or I could just continue to spend my life negging myself. Options are important.
“Was there anything in particular that pushed you into changing your number?” I ask. “Besides her coming back to town?”
He says nothing for a long moment. Long enough that I think he’s not going to answer. “It’s pretty much all about that.”