Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Her skin is paler, not like she’s seen a ghost, but more as if she hasn’t seen the sun in too long. It’s December. What do I expect? I just remember a natural flush that covered her so six years ago. Goose bumps cover her this time. “Why do you never have a coat?”
She laughs, rubbing her hands over her arms. “I don’t know.” Glancing back through the windows of the pub, she says, “I didn’t want to miss you.”
“Anymore?” I still can’t manage a smile, my insides feeling too raw with the emotions she drags from the graveyard every time I see her. I slip my coat off and move closer to her. I don’t know what to expect—her to move from my reach or to allow me into her personal space again. I move behind her. When I slide her hair to one side of her neck, my fingers graze her skin, leaving more goose bumps to react to my touch. I could stand there all day tracing the graceful line of her neck with my gaze and counting the freckles that dot across her skin. I don’t because she’s another man’s wife.
I set the coat over her shoulder, and when she’s quicker than I am at lifting her hair, I wrap it around that side of her body as well. Coming around to the front, I remain closer this time as if the pull is too strong for me to fight. She slips her arms into the sleeves and then pulls it closed in the front. “Is this the same coat you had back then?”
It swallows her whole, but she looks so damn good in it. “It still has a lot of life left to it.”
“Keats?” she asks, looking straight into my eyes. “I . . .” The bravery that had her edging toward slips when the words disappear from her tongue.
“I hate that this is fucking awkward.”
“Me, too,” she whispers.
Running my hand through my hair, I say, “I told my agent I wouldn’t be long.”
“Your agent?”
I’m not sure if it makes me feel better to clarify what she saw inside, if it’s more for her benefit, or maybe both, but I rub the knit hanging around my neck. “Yeah, she was sharing news we’d been waiting for.”
“Is it good news?” The expectancy in her eyes has a hint of delight, as if she could stand out here shooting the shit with me all night.
That’s just not who we are anymore. I’m not sure we ever were since we were cut short. “Why did you come out here, Sosie?”
Any joy that dared to gleam in her eyes vanishes, and her gaze drops to the sidewalk between us. “I, um.” When she looks up, she says, “I needed to see you again, Keats.”
“Why? What are you looking for that you don’t have in there?” My gaze tracks with my hand toward the pub. When I look at her again, I say, “You’re married—”
“I’m not.”
“Okay,” I say, shaking my head at this game of semantics. “Engaged? Does that work?” Sarcasm drips from the question, leaving her with raised eyebrows.
“It doesn’t work. No.”
“That big fucking rock on your finger says otherwise, sweetheart.” Yeah, there’s no keeping the annoyance from my tone. Why am I fighting it anyway? We’re nothing to each other. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, though the words scrape like a razor blade down my throat, refusing to let them survive long enough to be voiced because I know the truth. She’s everything. Absolutely every fucking thing in my godforsaken universe. The stars and the moon, the night winds bringing in the chill, and sunnier days that allow me to forget, for just a minute, that I once experienced something special and lost it. “Can’t you see?” Defeat mixes with the anger that’s been building for years.
“See what? What can’t I see, Keats?” I can appreciate the edge of impatience in her question. She was strong, could stand on her own, and do what she wanted. That’s how I remember her. She was a muse, a fairy that only appeared for one night, a siren who put a spell on me that hasn’t broken yet. She was amazing.
When I dare to look at her again, admittedly, she is still incredible in my eyes. But is she still that strong, enough to fend off the life she deemed her fate? Not if that ring on her finger is any indication. “You gave them what they wanted.”
I turn to the side to face anything other than her. She clouds my judgment, making me feel irrational for getting angry. She owes me nothing, but for some reason, I still expect her to say or do something that will change our past and give me something to believe in again.
She comes to me, running her hand down my arm with her fingertips lingering on the back of my hand where my skin is exposed. “Please. Please talk to me.”