Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 164263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 821(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 821(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Ah yes, I remember that she has a love of all things vintage. This must be where she keeps her collection. I keep going up the stairs and find the main at the top, my eyes roam around as if I’m a child in a candy shop. “Fuck. Me.”
This isn’t a grand room by any means, it’s small and intimate.
Romantic.
The walls are a shade of blush apricot, the drapes are an antique lace. A beautiful chandelier hangs in the center of the room and there’s a giant picture of a vase of roses. There’s a cream marble dresser with a gilded gold mirror above it. Over the bed is a sheer canopy and the bedside tables are a matching cream marble. This is probably the most feminine and luxe bedroom I have ever been in…and I’ve seen a lot of bedrooms in my life. “Wow,” I whisper as I drop to sit on the bed and look around.
I can feel Alora in every inch of it; her presence is so strong in here. My eyes roam around the space and I see a book on her side of the bed and I pick it up.
The Alchemist
I skim over the blurb and place it back down, not at all the type of book that I imagine she would read. My eyes go to the shelves and I go to them, my finger runs across the spines. They’re worn as if read time and time again, like an old companion that’s constantly brought out, a friend she revisits. I pick up an oval photo frame of a woman, she has long dark hair and a pretty smile, she looks like Alora and my heart sinks. This must be her late mother. I carefully put the frame back where it was. My eyes land on an old metal tin, it’s obviously an antique and very well loved. Red and gold and very worn, I wonder what’s inside. My guilty eyes rise to the door to check the coast is clear and I pick it up, slide the lid off and frown as I stare down at the contents. Needles and thread, with a selection of black or white satin fabric labels in different sizes, huh, what are these for? I pick one up and turn it over to see that it has been embroidered with the initials.
A S
I don’t understand why she would have this, AS what does that stand for…oh, Alora Sorenson. What the hell? She embroiders her initials onto labels for her clothing? I’ve never met anyone who would take the time to do such a thing. I close the tin, unsure how to unpack that piece of information.
The bathroom is small and cream marble, quaint and understated. I hate to admit this, but Alora is the first normal person I’ve ever been with.
The women I date have all come from money and a lot of that has to do with the circles we run in, but a lot of it also has to do with the fact that I have no interest in meeting a gold digger.
Alora doesn’t fit into either category, or any that I’ve ever known for that matter. She isn’t even normal, she’s eccentric with weird grandma hobbies.
Completely happy as she is.
I sit for a moment with my thoughts, blazingly aware that she wouldn’t give up anything here for the life that I live. My world is fast, hard, and competitive. Nocturnal.
A million miles away from a vegetable garden, embroidered initials and playlists called “Sunny Mornings.”
This will never work.
“Dinner.” I hear her voice echo up the stairs.
“Coming.”
Before I know it my hands are under the faucet and as the hot water runs over them, I’m wondering if this thing between us is even worth pursuing.
Let’s face it, I already know how this ends.
I make my way downstairs to see that she has set the table outside in the garden in amongst the lights. Two long, thin, white candles are in the center of the table, crystal glasses of water are beside the delicious-looking meal and everything looks perfect.
I smile as I sit down. “You are quite the entertainer, Miss Sorenson.” I pick up my napkin and place it on my lap.
“Don’t get too excited.” She smiles as she picks up her knife and fork. “You haven’t tasted it yet.”
I take a bite of the melt-in-the-mouth steak and my eyebrows flick up in surprise. “I knew this smelt good, but that was nothing in comparison to how it tastes.”
She smiles proudly and we eat in silence for a while as my mind scampers through this new information.
“Tell me.” I finish my mouthful as I try to get the wording right in my head. “Where do you see this going?” I wipe my mouth with the napkin.
“What?”
I gesture to the air between us. “This.”