Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Wow.” I spin in a slow circle, taking it all in before pausing in front of the coffee table to stare out at the view. The windows curve all the way around from the kitchen to this side of the room, creating a ninety-degree view of the harbor and the ocean beyond.
“The room meets with your approval?” he asks, his voice a soft rumble from behind me.
I turn, watching him cross the carpet with my heart in my throat. “Yes. I don’t even care that there’s not a bed.”
His lips twitch. “There’s a bed.” He nods to his right. “It’s in there. In the bedroom. Through the door.”
“I know,” I say, keeping my eyes locked on his, certain that if I look away for a second, I’ll lose him for good. “I was joking. I’m not that backwoods.”
“You’re not backwoods at all,” he says, closing the last of the distance between us. He reaches up, skimming his fingertips across my forehead, brushing over the place he kissed on the dance floor before tucking a few loose strands behind my ear. “You’re a proper Downeaster Maniac with saltwater in your veins.”
I search his face, trying to guess where this is going, but his expression is back to the unreadable mask I encountered that first night in his bedroom. “Thank you? I guess?”
“It was meant as a compliment,” he says, his voice still sad. “You belong here. You love everything about being from Sea Breeze and Sea Breeze loves everything about you.”
“Oh,” I say, my throat tightening. “I see.”
“What do you see?” He scans my face, as if trying to memorize it before he walks out the door.
“That’s the deal-breaker,” I say, a little wobble in my voice. “You’ve decided I’m happy where I am and it’s best to leave me there. Like a pig in shit.”
His brows lift. “I never said that.”
“No, you said I should pull myself up by my bootstraps and do something with my life instead throwing it away hauling lobster traps,” I say, motioning toward the door behind him. “What happened to that? That was like…five minutes ago. What changed between down there and up here?”
“I didn’t say that, either.”
“You did,” I say. “Maybe not in those exact words, but that was the underlying message. I can read subtext, you know. I may be dumb dock trash, but I got pretty good grades in school.”
His gaze grows frostier. “Decided it’s your turn to pick a fight?”
I press my lips together, forcing away the stinging sensation pricking at the back of my nose. “No, I just…” I swallow and force the heat from my tone. “But like I said, I’m not stupid. I can feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“You pulling away.” I shrug and drop my gaze to the lush carpet, not wanting him to see the shine in my eyes as I add, “And I really don’t want you to. Because I…”
I dampen my lips with the tip of my tongue, gathering my courage as my heart beats frantically in my chest. It feels like I’m about to stand up in front of a firing squad, but my logical mind knows that’s not true. Losing the people you love hurts like a killing blow, but it doesn’t actually kill you. If Weaver turns his back on me and walks away, or worse, tries to let me down easy, I’ll be okay.
Maybe not tomorrow or the next day or the next, but eventually, time will pass and I’ll forget how it felt to stand at the edge of this cliff, desperate to take the leap, if only my person would jump with me.
He is my person.
He may not see that, but I do, and that certainty gives me the guts to lift my chin and look him straight in the eye as I say, “I love you. I didn’t mean to love you. I didn’t expect to love you. You were a real piece of work that first night. And you’re bossy and fussy and you have pretentious rich person snacks that don’t taste as good as normal snacks. But…”
I pull in another breath, feeling like I might vomit as he continues to stand there staring as I puke my heart out onto the floor between us. “But you’re also a smartass and an art lover and kinder than you want anyone to realize. You’re thoughtful and compassionate and take genuine pleasure in making other people happy. And you continue to be patient with your family long after a saint would have thrown up their hands and run.”
“I did run,” he says softly. “I ran all the way to New York City and I almost never came back.”
“But you did come back. When they needed you.”
“They might need me, but they don’t want me,” he says, still holding my gaze, giving me hope that all isn’t lost. “They’d be happy to keep things just as they were before Rodger died, until they eventually run into a politician who can’t be bribed, and the Tripp empire sinks into the sand. No one wants me here.”