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 smile brightens the room more than the sun filtering in through the windows. “Did you buy the shoes?”
“No. I was about to. I had planned to take the train out to Jersey to the mall, but my mom’s shoes were parked by the door next to mine. She needed new soles more than I needed sneakers that fit.”
“You bought your mom shoes?”
I release her to drop my head and rub the bridge of my nose to break up the water forming in the corners of my eyes. Damn, the heaviness of the long-forgotten memory hits me harder than I could have expected. “She did the best she could.” My canned response comes quickly. The excuse to defend her has always been ready on the tip of my tongue, but I realize I don’t genuinely say it to defend her when she’s not paying much attention to me. I’ve been saying it, so no one thinks less of me for having parents who couldn’t be there for me, which cost them nothing and would have meant more than shoes ever could have.
Tilting my head back, I tap it to the headboard before resting it there. “She needed them more than I did.”
She scooches closer, her body just kissing mine without the pressure to cause any pain. “You’re a good man, Poet. You always have been.”
“I don’t know about that, but things work out how they’re supposed to.”
“Even with us?”
Her gaze slides to our hands held between us. “I was fucking miserable after that night. Knowing what I had and lost was worse than never having it at all. But—” I look at her. When her eyes greet mine, and a smile appears, I add, “I’m starting to believe this is how it was meant to work out. Time and perspective allow me to see things in a new light I couldn’t back then.”
“I would have preferred we’d had those years together.”
My cheeks split in reaction. How did I deserve this incredible woman? I lean over. “Ow.” And kiss her despite the pain because deep down, I gave her the answer I tell myself, but I wish we had had those years together as well.
“Time for meds.”
She hands them to me with a glass of water. As soon as I swallow them, I say, “You know what would make me feel so much better, Nurse Sosie?”
“What?” She appears ready to serve, which only makes me hard again.
“You naked.”
The bubble of trying to be all serious bursts with her laughter. Taking the chocolate from my hand, she unwraps it and says, “Open wide.” I do as I’m told and eat the mint chocolate. As soon as it’s melting in my mouth, she cocks a brow as a smirk comes over her. “That will have to do for now.” Walking toward the door, she grips onto the frame and, with her weight hanging from her fingertips, she adds, “Until I get back. I have an apartment to go see.”
We’ve managed to loop back to where this all started—her leaving when all I want is for her to stay. But I set my selfish wants aside and butter my English muffin like a good patient. “Will I see you later?”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Poet.” Righting herself, she moves to the hall and looks back. “I may not be trained, but I have every intention of nursing you back to good health.” She dashes back and gives me a kiss. “I’ll be back before you miss me.”
As soon as she takes a step, I say, “I miss you.”
Her laughter trickles out as she walks to the door. One glance over her shoulder, and she says, “I already miss you, too.”
CHAPTER 27
SOSIE
Chatter from the other room is dulled when Marcy asks, “What do you think, Sos?” The clack of two sets of heels echoes off the hardwood floors right after, the sound disappearing when my friend enters the bedroom with the agent.
Turning away from the view of the solid brick wall less than ten feet outside the window, I find Marcy standing next to the real estate broker, and my excitement bubbles over. “I’ll take it.”
“Really? It’s the size of a shoebox. You can’t get more than a queen in this bedroom, and there’d be no room to walk on the sides,” the broker says with perplexion, creating lines despite the heavy Botox to keep them at bay. “The price is unbeatable, but that view—”
“I love it.” Not one thing on the list sounds negative despite her tone and the disapproval she’s struggling to keep from her expression.
“You qualify for so much more. I’m waiting for an off-market apartment on the Upper East Side to get back to me. Seventeen hundred square feet. Three bedrooms. A terrace—”
“I don’t need to see it. This is the one.” I may not be in a skirt, but I twirl with my arms out anyway. “See, it’s big enough,” I say, coming to a stop in my sneakers.