Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
When it comes to Daphne, I try to just listen to her talk. I try to take it all in. She’s caught me on a few more things that I’ve had to claim memory loss on, but for the most part, I’m able to fake my way through conversations. But we also haven’t really been in an intimate situation like sitting in a car by each other heading to a date. So, I’ve just been driving and allowing silence to swarm around us. Though it doesn’t seem that Daphne minds. She just sits in her seat and listens to music as the foggy forest passes us by. The roads aren’t bad, and nothing my Jeep can’t handle. I have no concerns that we have to rush back. We can enjoy a nice evening out. We both deserve it.
“I should have taken you here for this dinner sooner,” I say as my eyes quickly lock with hers. “I apologize for that.”
“No need. We only came to Heathens Hollow for family gatherings and parties. It’s not like we had the opportunity.”
“But is it something you would have liked to do?” I ask as I put my eyes back on the road.
“Of course. Ani and I used to fantasize what it would be like to eat there. It’s fancy, but not snooty. Ghost Pines was sort of that marker for people. If you could afford to eat there, then you made something of yourself. I—”
“I wish you would have told me this. Your dreams should be granted,” I interrupt. “Especially something as simple as taking you to a nice seafood and steak restaurant.”
“I’ve never been good at opening up,” she confesses. “Sometimes dreams need to just stay dreams.”
I glance over and reach for her hand. “Not anymore. You're my wife and the very least I can do is start granting some of them.”
When we reach Ghost Pines, I pull up at the entrance to drop Daphne off so she doesn’t have to walk through the parking lot in the rain. “I’m going to park. Go ahead and put our name in.”
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Daphne
I’ve never eaten prime rib before. I don’t want to admit this fact to Apollo. High society women in Seattle—and I’m assuming the rest of the world—seem to only eat dainty fish dishes, salads, or maybe the occasional chicken breast. No woman I ever met would dare sit at a table and eat a big slab of fatty meat. But that’s exactly what I’m doing. Apollo hadn’t given me much of a choice since he ordered for the both of us. But I can’t say I’m upset by that fact. Growing up an Eastsider, eating at Ghost Pines was never an option. Not even on a special occasion could we even dare walk into a place like this.
I had considered trying to get a waitressing job here at one point. One night’s tips would no doubt be a month’s worth of bills paid. But I wasn’t even up to their standards for serving their clients. Ghost Pines was simply an illusion for the poor like me. It catered to the wealthy who had vacation homes on Heathens Hollow, or flew in on their sea planes or helicopters from Seattle. No true locals could afford a place like this.
“They have great prime rib, right?” Apollo asks as he places another piece of meat into his mouth.
“It’s so good,” I say as I take in every savory taste.
The restaurant isn’t exactly fancy by Seattle standards—at least not white tablecloths and candlelight—but it does have a roaring fire, leather booths, and the rustic charm of the decor makes the entire place feel warm and inviting. For Heathens Hollow, this is as fancy as this fisherman town will get. I love it, and I love every minute of this date with Apollo.
“So, I’d like to ask you something,” he says as he sips from his wine. “But I don’t want to hurt your feelings by admitting I can’t remember something.”
“You won’t hurt my feelings. I know that memory loss is going to be an issue. The doctors had warned me it could be much worse than it seems to be. You really are recovering at break-neck speed.”
“Okay, but this could hurt you.”
“Hurt me? How?”
“I don’t really remember us meeting and how we became married. What I do know almost feels…like it’s a story that’s been told to me. I lack the details. You’ve mentioned that I saved you from the island. You make me feel as if I did something more than just asking you to marry me.” He pauses as he chews his meat and then swallows, never breaking his stare. “How did we meet? I’d like to hear it from you.”
I divert my eyes and shrug. Does it bother me he doesn’t remember our beginning? Maybe. But maybe I’m bothered even more that I don’t really want to talk about it. “It’s the classic Cinderella story. Poor girl. Rich man. You brought me into your life so I could no longer be an Eastsider.”