Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
If I could fill this place with her things, her scent, her laughter, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
I want her here full-time.
The idea hits harder than I expected. What does that even mean? That after years of convincing myself I don’t need a relationship, that I don’t want a wife… Maybe I do?
Wife. Where the fuck did that thought come from?
I’m not paying attention to the movie. My gaze is locked on her profile as she smiles brightly at the screen, her raven-black hair still in the bun she wore to work. Her legs are folded under her ass as she reclines on the couch, leaning on a pillow.
“You can watch the movie, you know,” she tells me, fully aware that my focus is on her.
“I’d rather be watching you.” And I’m not lying. She is way more interesting than what is happening on the stupid television.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Soren.”
“What’s hard?” I ask.
She waves a finger between us. “Us. We can never be together. I don’t know if I will ever feel safe having my son with anyone but his father again, and that’s thanks to your sister.”
I adjust my position slightly and feel the burn in my ribs. They probably aren’t broken, but for sure bruised, which is fine. I’ve dealt with worse than this.
“So, we’re friends?” I ask.
“Have you ever been friends with someone you’ve fucked?” Her gaze flicks between me and the movie she seems to love so much.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Look…” She takes a deep breath, and for a split second, something flickers in her eyes: hesitation, maybe regret. Her tone softens, just barely, like she’s fighting to keep control. “I can find another job. We can end whatever this is, and have a clean break.”
“That’s what you want?”
“I think it’s for the best, don’t you?” Her voice is steady, but there’s a slight catch in the way she says it, just enough to make me pause. Like maybe she’s asking the question more for herself than for me.
“It’s not me offering it,” I remind her.
“Well, then, yes. I think it’s for the best.” She glances away, her voice a little quieter. “I’ll stay a few more hours, then I have to go. I need to pack for my trip.”
“You can keep your job, Cressida.” I can see her pulling away, and it tugs on something deep inside of me. The last thing I want is for her to pull away from me.
She blinks, frozen, and then blinks again. “You rarely call me by my name.”
“You’re my employee, so I should be using your name.”
“I guess you’re right.”
She turns back to the television, and we stay like that until the movie is finished. Her watching the movie. Me watching her. She doesn’t look my way again, even though I know she knows I’m staring at her. She doesn’t comment on it again either.
When I sense she’s about to leave, I stand at almost the same time she does, ignoring the pull at my ribs.
“Thank you, Soren,” she says.
“For what?”
“I guess for not killing me.” She smirks, then she turns and heads for the door.
I want to tell her to stop, to come back. Beg her to stay so we can work through this. And while I have always been a selfish man, something about her makes me not want to be with her. The last thing I want to do is cause her more pain. I’ve already done enough of that.
THIRTY-SEVEN
CRESSIDA
The time Oliver and I spend with my family is really good, but I miss home. I haven’t heard from Soren since I left. I didn’t think I would, but you know, there’s always that little devil on your shoulder that whispers to you.
Mine needs to shut up.
I’m sitting at the firepit when Izzy approaches. Her daughter is currently running around chasing chickens while Oliver chases her. It’s so cute.
“How is Noah?” she asks.
My other sister, Anna, sits on the opposite side of the fire, holding a glass of wine. Their husbands are inside watching a game as our father is preparing food. Our mother comes over with two glasses and passes me one before she takes the seat next to me.
“He’s doing well. He sent me an invite to his wedding. I told him I regretfully decline.”
“And how is Soren?” Izzy asks, smiling behind her glass of wine.
“Soren? Who is that?” my mother asks.
“Google Soren Nixon,” Izzy tells Anna. And Anna immediately grabs her phone. I know the second she gets to a photograph of him because her eyes go wide, and she stares up at me. Her gaze flicks to Izzy, who nods in confirmation before she looks back at me.
“Who is that man?” Anna asks with a sly grin.
“He’s Cres’s new friend,” Izzy unhelpfully says.