Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
“Sorry it’s not something fancier,” I finally mutter, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
Olivia puts her hand over mine and grins at me. “I think it’s perfect.”
“You do?” I ask, shocked, as I look down at the individual container that I had just handed her. For her to say that she couldn’t have looked at it. I’m shocked when I notice she has the peanut butter sandwich open and has a small packet of grape jelly in her hand.
“You can’t go wrong with peanut butter. Plus, it was pretty thoughtful that you brought the jelly packets so I could choose what I wanted. Although a banana would have been better.”
“Well, I can’t take the credit for being thoughtful. I’m a bachelor, so I keep a bunch of those jelly packets because I usually grab breakfast through the drive-through when I’m out running errands for the ranch. You’re right, though. I don’t have bananas, but I have some watermelon in the cooler for dessert. I also have plain chips or barbecue. Pick your poison.”
She laughs. “Okay, now I’m really impressed. We have a feast and fresh fruit too.”
“I feel like you’re mocking me, Miss Davis,” I joke, enjoying the smile on her face much more than I should.
“Nope. Honestly, if I had gone home, dinner would have been a peanut butter and banana sandwich and chips. I didn’t have any watermelon, so really, I would have missed out.”
“Are you lying to make me feel better?” I laugh.
“Nope. I used to love cooking. Dad hated takeout, unless it was from one certain place there in Cherokee. So, I made everything we ate for the most part. I enjoyed it, but cooking for one person is kind of a waste. Now and then, I’ll get to wanting a meatloaf sandwich or spaghetti, but nine times out of ten it’s just easier to make a sandwich.”
“I can attest to that. Except I wouldn’t even know how to make meatloaf. I’m in the bunkhouse though. If I try to cook, I’d have to cook for everyone, and that would be bad.”
“It would?” she asks, studying me.
“I’d probably give the whole crew food poisoning, and I don’t think Colt and the others would like working the ranch all by themselves.”
“Probably not,” she agrees with a giggle. Then, she takes a bite of her sandwich. “Mm …” she hums. I swear the sound makes my cock stand up and salute. Shit.
“Good?” I question lamely.
“You bought the good stuff. I’m impressed.”
I chuckle. The sound is rusty even to my own ears. “It doesn’t take much to win you over then, Livy.”
An almost wistful look sweeps across her face. “I’m not normal, I guess. The best dates I ever had in my life were at Subway in the afternoon.”
“You’re a beautiful woman. You deserve more than being taken out to a fast-food joint for a date,” I respond before I can stop myself.
“I had expensive dinners and a man that spent money on me after that, but even when I shouldn’t have, I still wished for those afternoons in Subway,” she says quietly.
“Why?” I ask, confused.
“Because I spent them with the one man in the world whom I loved with everything inside of me. I didn’t know it at the time, but he loved me the same. I pushed him away when I should have refused. I should have held onto him with everything I had. I didn’t. I failed us both,” she says so sadly that the words are painful to hear.
“It must be amazing to experience a love like that,” I respond, pain squeezing in my chest like a phantom wound I can’t name.
“It is. It’s also a living hell at times.”
I cock my head and look at her, not understanding. Olivia seems to understand my unspoken question. “We went through …” she pauses, and her face twists in something that can only be described as immense pain, before she utters another word. “Hell.” Silence surrounds us. I want to say something, anything to help stop the darkness around her from spreading, but I can’t make anything come out. Fuck, I’m afraid to move in case that hurts her more.
Finally, she speaks again, but the words are just as hurtful to hear. “Bear and I went through hell together, and then he died, leaving me alone. I wish every hour of every single day that I would have gone with him instead of being left here alone in a world without him.”
“I know this sounds stupid, Livy, but I’m envious of you.”
“You are?” she laughs—the sound cold, not humorous at all. “Why? Do you want my ability to send a simple picnic dinner with a friend into something dark, depressing—not to mention sharing something I shouldn’t have shared with another person? I don’t even tell my therapist this stuff. I think I’m afraid she’ll have me committed.”