Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
The reason I asked about a private gym is because I’m used to being hounded when I try to work out in a public one. I’m constantly harassed. I can barely go out in public at times without being mobbed, which is a frightening thing to have happen.
I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Made more sacrifices than you know. So I’d appreciate it if you’d stop with the attitude and the preconceived notions of my life.
I’ll try to remember the sweet girl I knew and not this sanctimonious, sarcastic woman who took her place.
He was right. I was being judgmental and sanctimonious with him. What he didn’t know, though, was I wasn’t normally like that. I was reacting to his being here. I wasn’t prepared. I’d had no opportunity to steel myself to see him. Hear his voice. Feel him close again.
When I allow myself to think of you, Kassie, what I remember the most is your sweetness and openness. Your light. The fact that I killed that will haunt me.
What exactly did he mean by that? When he allowed himself to think of me. Did that mean it happened more than he wanted it to, so he forced himself not to?
He indicated his life wasn’t always as great as the stories and pictures made it seem. I knew that, lately, the pictures I had seen showed a different-looking Oliver. Older. More withdrawn, his usually easy smile more forced. And the articles weren’t as positive anymore. He seemed jaded. Sad, perhaps?
Why did the idea of him being mobbed bother me so much? Was it the slight fear in his eyes when he said it? What sacrifices had he made? Was he talking about leaving Richton and me behind? It had to be something else.
I had to confess, he still occupied a gigantic part of my head. More than I wanted to admit. Maybe even a little of my heart. But I couldn’t analyze that thought right now.
He said he would find another place, but the truth was, I didn’t want him to. Maybe his staying here would give us a chance to mend some of the hurt of those years ago. It might help both of us.
If I were honest with myself, I didn’t want him to think I was a sarcastic, uncaring person. I wasn’t. I cared too much most of the time, which always got me in trouble. Maybe if we spent a little time together, he would think more kindly of me.
Perhaps we could even be friends.
I sighed as I stood and headed back to the kitchen to start making some pies.
Friends with Oliver Hart.
That was something I would never have imagined wanting a mere twenty-four hours ago.
Yet, now, I wanted it badly.
A few hours later, I had a dozen pies cooling on the counter. Tomorrow, I would make another six, plus a special order for Quinn for her catering business. I planned on making the pastry for all of them later, so it could chill overnight and the pie-making would go faster.
I pulled out four small pies, adding them to the cooling area. Two were blueberry, which I knew to be Oliver’s favorite. He had seemed to enjoy the one I’d left him yesterday, and I hoped he would accept these as an olive branch.
I stretched, feeling the dull ache in my lower back. I decided to go for a run. It always cleared my head and helped relieve the ache.
I had never properly healed from what had happened a few years ago.
I shook my head, refusing to think of that, and headed to my room to change and put on my sneakers, needing the run now more than ever.
It felt good to move. To feel the ground beneath my feet as I ran, my rhythm balanced, my breathing steady. I was in the zone, splashing through small puddles left by the sudden downpour earlier, skipping over deeper ones. I loved running in the park, especially this time of day. It was fairly deserted, a few children and their caregivers or parents watching over them. Some of the older townsfolk were sitting on benches and gossiping, a few men playing on the chessboards painted on stone tables. I waved at the people I knew but kept going, not wanting to stop.
I rounded a corner, the trail ahead of me empty except one runner in the distance heading my way. I kept to my side, head down, accidentally misjudging the depth of a puddle, my feet suddenly flying out from under me as I slipped on mud and tumbled sideways. I flung out my arms, doing a great interpretation of a windmill as I tried to recover my balance, to no avail, and I crashed to the slope beside me, rolling a little way before the world righted itself. I shut my eyes in embarrassment, grateful for the empty trail and no one witnessing the epic fall.