Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Now, before you get distracted again,” he says with a laugh, “whatcha got?”
“Oh yeah!” I grab the package. “So, I know you’ve adapted to your dyslexia, but after we spoke about it and you seemed upset that you couldn’t read well, I did some research.”
I pull the colored cards out, along with a book I got him.
“What’s this?” he asks carefully.
“I read that colored cards can help.”
“No. What’s the book?”
“Oh, it’s one of my favorite books—The Giver.”
“I remember this book, but I never read it,” he admits.
“It’s so good. It’s about a utopia, though the argument could be made that it’s really a dystopia. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“Okay,” he says. “And the cards?”
I pull them out and open the book, placing a red one on the first page. “They come with a bunch of different colors because everyone’s different, and it might not work at all. But I figured it couldn’t hurt to try. Just look at the words and see if they’re clearer through the see-through card.”
He stares at the page for several seconds and then shakes his head. “No. Still jumbled.”
“Let’s try another one.”
We go through several colors, and each time he says no, my heart aches for him. I can hear it in his tone that he’s defeated and uncomfortable. Maybe this was a bad idea, but I was just hoping, if one of them worked, maybe he’d feel like he wasn’t so broken.
I set the blue one over the page and wait … and wait … and just when I think it’s going to be another no, he starts to read the first sentence. And then he continues on to the second and then the third. And when he finishes the paragraph, he glances up at me with the most breathtaking smile.
“How did I do?” he asks.
“You read every single word perfectly,” I choke out.
“Holy shit,” he breathes. “The words … they weren’t jumbled.”
He reads a few more sentences, and when he stops, I nod.
“Every word, perfect.”
“Fuck,” he says, pulling me into his arms. “Thank you for this. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to be able to read like a normal person until now.”
“You have a learning disability,” I correct him, “but that doesn’t make you any less normal than anyone else. Will you read more to me?”
“Yeah, but right now, I need to show you just how thankful I am for you.”
He reaches over and pulls me into his lap, and then his mouth connects with mine. He cradles my face in his strong hands and kisses me softly, reverently, with slow, shallow strokes of his tongue, and it’s as if the entire world around us evaporates.
Until the door opens and Brielle calls out, “Honey, I’m home! Whoops. Looks like I’ve walked in on something.”
She closes the door behind her, and Matteo groans in annoyance.
“Remind me to change the code,” he murmurs against my mouth but loud enough so Brielle can hear him. “Apparently, my family and friends don’t understand what the word emergency means.”
I climb off his lap despite him trying to keep me there, and he turns and hits Brielle with a playful glare.
“My bad,” she says with a shrug. “I didn’t know you guys were a thing.”
“Oh, yes,” I say with a laugh. “He even referred to himself as my boyfriend.”
Brielle mock gasps. “Holy shit, I never thought I’d see the day. Can you hear that?” She cups her ear and looks off into the distance. “It’s all the women crying that Harbor Point’s very own bad boy is officially off the market.”
She cackles at her joke, and I can’t help but join in because she isn’t wrong. Matteo might not think he’s boyfriend material, but if he was as attentive with other women as he is with me, they’d have every right to be sad that he’s no longer single and available.
“Very funny,” Matteo mutters. “I have shit to do. Have fun shopping.”
I turn to go get dressed, but he grabs my arm and jerks me back, until his lips brush the shell of my ear.
“And if you happen to find some of that sexy lingerie women like to buy, my favorite color is green.”
His favorite color is green … like my eyes.
Not boyfriend material, my ass.
“Oh my God, I am shopped out.” I drop my bags onto the floor next to me, and Brielle laughs.
“Same. I was hoping Peyton would be able to join us, but the twins caught a cold, and I don’t think they’ve slept in days.” She shudders dramatically.
Since we were both shopped out, we’ve stopped at a little coffee shop that doubles as a bookstore, called Lattes and Words. It’s absolutely adorable, and it smells like coffee and books.
“You live with them, right?” I ask as we get in line to order our coffees.