Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Teddy swallows hard and nods silently.
“Good.” I lower my tone, grab my purse, and sling it over my shoulder. “Now I have to go meet with the GC and do my own begging to get him to work with me on the new time frame.”
Teddy’s face has paled and his bottom lip trembles slightly. I realize I’ve just scared the shit out of my lawyer. I doubt any attorney, especially one only four years out and trying to make a go of it on his own, wants to hear the word malpractice.
“Please fix this for me, Teddy. This is my life about to crumble.”
He nods effusively. “I will get started on the legal research right away. I’ll find a way to make this work for you, Tillie. I promise.”
After I leave Teddy’s office, I stop by the post office, but there’s nothing but junk mail for me. One piece is an advertisement for a window-coverings company, just the sort of ad I might take a second look at because I’ll need blinds for the new studio to block out harsh light when painting.
Now it looks as if the studio may never happen, and that thought makes me want to cry.
I suck it up, though, and head toward the grocery store. I’m on the tail end of completing a watercolor of the Allegheny Reservoir, and I want to finish it this week. Enough groceries to get me through the next four days will ensure that happens.
I pull into the Shop ’n’ Save lot, pausing to type out a quick list on my phone before going in. The way I’m feeling now, I’ll likely make impulsive food choices that’ll include chocolate in the ingredients.
Cart chosen, I make my way down the first aisle, grabbing quinoa and chickpeas for a summer salad. Feeling healthy and proud of my decisions, I bypass the pasta aisle—bad carbs are a definite weakness—and grab herbal tea instead.
I struggle with the next section, and although I try to move past the chips, sadly I turn my cart their way. Potato chips, Doritos, pretzels, salsa. It all calls to me as a means of alleviating the stress I’m under.
My chin lifts and I walk on, refusing to stop, refusing to reach out.
It’s the next aisle where I often fail.
The baked goods section.
I’ll take just a peek.
Bad move.
I make it no more than a quarter of the aisle before grabbing a bag of chocolate chips and opening it right there. Setting it in the front seat of the cart, I nibble at the tiny bits of chocolate heaven while I peruse the boxed cakes.
Maybe I’ll make a strawberry cake with cream cheese frosting. Fruit’s good for you, right?
My inner child—the one who was often picked on about her plain looks and weight growing up—tells me this is a bad idea. That eating my feelings is only going to lead to worse feelings.
I pick up the bag of chocolate chips and eat from it as I scan the cakes, still not committing one way or the other. Maybe if I get my sweet fix in the next few chips, I will find the strength to walk away.
“Tilden?”
I freeze, chocolate chip halfway to my mouth, and turn to see Coen standing there. He’s got a basket in one hand and a six-pack of bottled beer in the other.
Nope. Not talking to him.
Also, mortified he caught me eating chocolate chips out of the bag.
I turn quickly, tossing the candy into the cart, and pushing it in the opposite direction of one of the reasons I’m twisted in knots.
I don’t make it to the end of the aisle before his hand is on my elbow and he’s pulling me to a halt.
Jerking away, I spin on him. “What do you want?”
“Just saying hello,” he replies guardedly.
“Why?” My voice is low but demanding. “We’re not friends.”
“I didn’t call you Tillie,” he points out, then steps forward. He towers above me, his eyes glittering with knowledge. “But we are something.”
“We’re not,” I whisper.
He dips his head. “You let me into your body. That makes us something.”
I swallow hard, and the chocolate tastes bitter on my tongue. “Merely a one-night stand.”
“I’ve had you twice.”
“Fuck buddies,” I counter.
His lips curve into a knowing smirk. Why does that have to look sexy?
Lowering his head even more so his mouth is near my ear, he murmurs, “That implies friendship. As you pointed out, we’re not friends. But we are something that we haven’t defined yet. You could let me have you again, and maybe we can figure it out.”
Lust rages through my body from his words alone. The buttery tone and low rumble of seduction. More than anything, it’s the slight arrogance because he knows he had complete control over me both of those times we were intimate.
And he knows… he could easily get it again if he tried a little harder.