Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“It’s actually very hard to not tell you everything. Generally, I’m a straight shooter, but with you . . . if I make the wrong move, you’ll . . .”
“Break?” I suggest. “I just came out of a ten-year relationship, and I’m feeling anything but broken.”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think you’re breakable. More that if I say the wrong thing, you might . . . flee.”
“Does going back to New York on my prebooked ticket count as fleeing?” I ask.
“Okay, I’m going to lay it out straight for you.”
“Please.”
“I like you. Really like you. And I like what we’ve had, physically and emotionally.”
Somebody call the fire department, because my cheeks are aflame. “You thought that would make me flee?”
“No, I thought it would influence you. That you’d feel some kind of pressure . . . to please me.”
“Oh, you think I’d want to please you because you said you liked me. Because I’m so used to kinda going along with things other people want?”
“Right,” he says. “But I’m also conflicted because . . . Say you like me back, not because you want to please me, but because you really want me . . .”
I want you.
I want you.
I want you.
The thought fills with helium and lifts me up, up, up.
“I’m not sure where that leaves us,” he continues. “We live on different continents. You have a family and a job in New York. My business is here in London.”
My bubble bursts. I land on my ass with a thud.
He’s right. We like each other, but so what? I’m a week away from leaving for the other side of the ocean.
“I think we can remove the hypotheticals in this situation,” I say, feeling bolder. He goes to speak and I silence him with a look. “I like you,” I say. “It has nothing to do with pleasing you and nearly everything to do with your gorgeous ass.”
He chuckles and I mentally give myself a high five for making him laugh.
“You’re not bulldozing me by confessing your feelings,” I reassure him. “I like hearing it. Because I feel the same way. But as you say, it’s not like these feelings are going to lead anywhere. We live three thousand miles apart.”
“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.
“For a long time after my mom’s death, I was . . . scared to be unhappy. I ran—fled, if you like—from my grief. I did everything I could to maintain the status quo. I’d do anything that wasn’t going to take me back to the dark place after my mom died. You’re right. Jed, my job, my entire life in New York . . . It’s all been a reaction to my mom’s death.” I feel so far away from the life I had before London. “London changed things.” You changed things, I think but don’t say. “It’s forced me to reminisce, to think about her. And it’s been anything but sad. It’s been . . . joyful. I feel healed.”
He reaches for my hand and squeezes.
“You’re right. I’m headed back stateside all too soon. But I’d really like to see you as much as possible before I go. Even if that means I’ll be even more sad to leave.”
“I like the Tuesday who tells me what she wants.” He stands and takes my hand, encouraging me to rise.
I smile and something settles deep inside me. Like things have slotted into place somehow. I’m more me. More complete. “I like her too.”
He mumbles something to the waitress and apparently the bill is taken care of without so much as a signature. We head out of the restaurant.
We stand facing each other. Is this it? I don’t want to say goodbye. He’ll have to say it first.
He tips my head back, pressing his lips to mine in the way he does that makes me feel like I’m made of cotton candy and clouds.
He pulls away and gazes at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.
“You know what I want?” I ask him. One side of myself has lost the internal battle to keep some kind of distance from Ben. I’m not sure if it’s the right side or the wrong side, but I’m done trying to say no to what I want.
“Tell me.”
“I want you to come upstairs with me,” I say.
“Well, that’s a coincidence, because that’s what I want too.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I’m alternating between sitting and standing at my desk. Every time I manage to sit, I get the urge to run to the exit.
“You’re sure I don’t need to go up there?” I ask Gail, glancing at the elevators. “Mr. Jenkins was adamant I was going to be in the meeting. I’ve been working on this health check for weeks.”
Gail shrugs. “All I know is Ben called him and changed the meeting, so James went to him rather than the other way around.”