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)
He suddenly pushes off the wall, stealing my breath with the quick motion. Walking toward the door, he glances back, reaching for me. “Let’s get this over with so we can go.”
He treats me like I belong here with him . . .
As if we were always meant to be together . . .
I take his hand, looking up when I’m practically tucked under his arm, and say, “Thank you for trusting me.”
“Trusting you with what?”
I glance at the door, not sure what to expect on the other side. “With this part of your life.”
The back of his fingers graze my cheek, his eyes taking me in one last time before he turns and opens the door. I stay behind him, letting him take the lead. It’s his event, and I don’t want the spotlight. Or scrutiny. I’m not sure what to expect.
He shuts the door behind us and asks, “You alright?”
“Don’t worry about me. What kind of Stansbury would I be if I didn’t know how to entertain others?”
The party is smaller than the one downstairs. It’s quainter and more social; people can talk and mingle. In fact, there aren’t enough people to avoid detection, but there are plenty who allowed us the moment of privacy at the entrance. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to entertain anybody, Sosie.” The edge to his tone pulls my gaze to his. “You’re not on display here. You’re my guest. I can stay with you.”
“I didn’t mean it to sound—”
“Keats,” calls the woman he was with downstairs. With a toothy smile and her hair slicked back, she rushes from one side of the room to where we’re standing. “Everybody is so excited about securing your book to publish.” Her eyes fall on me, and she smiles. “Taylor Murchison. I’m this brilliant writer’s agent.”
He releases my hand subtly, but the cold drifts across my palm that had been warmed by his. We probably shouldn’t have walked in like we were something we’re not, so I try not to let it turn what’s been so good into a negative. Keats runs his hand through his hair and grins. “She’s paid the big bucks to say that.”
She says, “My fees are standard for the industry. The compliments are free.”
We laugh together, but then he says, “This is Sosie Stansbury.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, shaking her hand. With his coat still swallowing me, I feel the heat of her attention, though it’s not because of anything she’s done. Do I explain who I am and why I’m suddenly here at his side? That there’s an invisible drawstring that pulls Keats and me back together every couple of years? Yeah, that won’t make sense to anyone who has not experienced it. It’s best to keep my mouth shut and let Keats take this one. Especially because that also makes me sound like a one-night stand.
Oh my God.
Am I a one-night stand?
That’s not all we are, at least not to me. It’s not like we’ve had the opportunity to define what simmers between us. Although he doesn’t seem to see me that way, that is what we are at the bare minimum. Though I’ll never be convinced we aren’t more even if we don’t have the chance to prove it.
“You too, Sosie.” Glancing at Keats, she says, “I need to steal you away for a few minutes.” Looking at me, she grins. “The CEO of the publishing house is anxious to meet him.”
Keats looks at me as if I determine the outcome. “Go,” I say, giving him a playful shove. “I’ll be fine.”
He searches my eyes. Finding what he was looking for, he grants me a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
They maneuver through the room chatting like old friends. It makes me wonder how long that friendship extends. I look around, feeling much like a fly on the wall left to observe before slipping his coat from my shoulders. I drape it over my arms in front of me as Keats is surrounded like a celebrity.
While he shakes hands and makes small talk, Taylor brings him a drink. It’s not the act. It’s that she knows what he likes when I don’t. He drank champagne with me because that’s what would piss off my father. What does he drink when he has a choice?
What’s his favorite food?
Flavor of ice cream?
Book he’s ever read?
Movie?
His middle name and where he grew up?
I know so little about the man, though my heart is so attached to him.
It’s been six years since we first met, and Keats has lived an entire life that I wasn’t a part of or know anything about. I don’t even know if he has a girlfriend. My stomach sinks from the thought. Please don’t let him be dating anyone.
From this vantage point, I’m given a new view of the man he’s become, both the insight into who he is and the way his body has changed. Keats is tall, always was, but his frame is broader than it used to be, his jaw harder and more defined. More handsome, which is hard to imagine is possible. I remember those strong arms wrapped around me, like his coat was, and how, feeling small tucked against his body, it was only a size difference and had nothing to do with condescension like the other men in my life.