Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Truffle butter and a hint of citrus salt,” he says.
“You’re a genius.”
“Thank you,” he says, before adding in a softer voice. “And it’s not made of stone, though… Sometimes I wish it were.”
Before I can follow up on that revelation, he presses start on the movie and tucks into his sushi, clearly not interested in further conversation.
But I hold his confession tight to my chest, deciding it’s reason to hope that our talk tomorrow morning will go better than expected. Still, as I snuggle into the little spoon position two hours later, lulled quickly to sleep by the even rhythm of his breath and the warmth of his arms, I wonder if this is a new beginning or the beginning of the end.
I guess only morning will tell.
thirteen
HUNTER
I wake before dawn to find Elaina still curled against me, her breathing deep and even, inspiring an unfamiliar tightness in my chest.
But it’s not a bad feeling, it’s a warm, safe one that I recognize, but have only experienced a few times before.
The first was with my girlfriend in college, an incredible person I wasn’t prepared to love in the way she deserved. I regretted not being enough for McKenzie through every second of her wedding to an alcoholic pro soccer player a few years later, knowing I could have given her a better life if I’d just known how to show her how much she mattered to me.
The second time was with Lark, my last serious girlfriend.
Lark was a social worker with a heart of gold and a wicked sense of humor who kept me on my toes, and I loved her. I truly did. I did my best to show it, to live it and share it with her, but…I failed. Turned out I still didn’t know how to turn that warm tightness in my chest into something another person could feel.
My love remained locked away, a sad, pathetic secret I carried for years, long after Lark married one of my friends from work and announced the birth of their first child.
I was invited to the wedding and the christening. That’s how bad I am at being in love. My sweet, thoughtful ex, who would never knowingly hurt a living thing, never imagined I’d be upset by her invitations. Because she never believed I cared in the first place.
Like Elaina, Lark thought I had a heart of stone.
But I don’t. I have feelings, sometimes deep, gut-wrenching ones, they just don’t show on the outside.
But maybe last night…
Maybe Elaina could see them, feel them? At least a little?
The way she brought my hand to her lips and kissed the back before she drifted off, whispering, “Good night, Hunter. I’m glad you’re home,” gives me hope.
Last night was good…really good. Not just the makeup sex, but the time together after, too. I enjoyed dinner and a movie in bed with her more than I’ve enjoyed any of my dates to Michelin Star restaurants or trendy pop-up bars in the past few years.
But will she be able to understand where I’m coming from this morning? Even if I bare my soul to her as much as I’m capable of baring it to anyone?
I don’t know.
And I’m not looking forward to the fallout if we fail to reach a meeting of the minds. I don’t want to say goodbye to Elaina. I don’t want last night to be the last time I hold her, fuck her, or see that sweetly sarcastic smile I haven’t seen her flash for anyone else…
And I really don’t want to have to tell my mother that the girl she thinks is “perfect for me” is gone…
So, I do my best to delay the inevitable, letting Elaina sleep while I make coffee in the dark, taking refuge in the familiar morning ritual. The sky outside gradually lightens from black to purple to pink, painting the kitchen in the kind of soft glow that makes life seem deceptively simple and perfect.
Like those Instagram posts of “morning routines” that conveniently leave out the part where you’re having an existential crisis over your fancy Italian latte machine, wondering what’s the point?
What has all your hard work and striving been for if “success” can’t cure your mother’s cancer or make the people you care for stay when you really don’t want them to go?
“Well, that smells amazing,” Elaina says in her husky morning voice.
I turn to find her ambling into the kitchen, wearing my discarded dress shirt from last night. Her hair is messy, her mouth is still swollen from my kisses, and the liner she didn’t thoroughly wash off in the shower is smudged under her left eye. In short, she is beautiful and sexy and the only way I could want her more was if she was still wearing my tank top.
“Latte with a hint of vanilla and lavender in the milk?” I say, nodding toward the machine. “I can also do one with caramel, if you’re so inclined.”