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)
Elaina nods slowly. “Okay, but…maybe that was her problem, not yours. Or maybe you two were just a bad fit. I think you’re capable of showing what you feel.” A vulnerable expression twitches at her features as she adds, “I felt something. Last night. In the shower and later…when you told me your heart wasn’t made of stone, but you sometimes wished it were.”
I grunt again.
“Why do you wish it were?” she asks, her tone softer, but no less insistent.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I say. “I no longer find your nosiness attractive.”
A smile flashes across her face before she sobers again. “Come on, Mendelssohn. You were doing so well with the opening up thing. Just keep going. Baby steps toward intimacy. You can do it. I believe in you.”
I sigh, torn between finding her persistence charming and wanting to walk out of here right now and stay gone again for another three to four days. But that didn’t work the first time, and I know it won’t work now.
“Because,” I say, my throat so tight I can barely get the words out, “it hurts to feel things and try and…fail.”
Empathy fills her gaze as she nods. “It does. It hurts so much. But, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you would fail this time. I can tell that you care, Hunter. I can see it in the way you look at me, in the way you touch me…”
My jaw tightens and hope flickers in my chest, a tiny flame I snuff out before it can grow. “But you want children. That’s still non-negotiable for you?”
She bites her bottom lip but doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. I want babies. Pretty desperately.”
“And I do not. Most emphatically. So…”
She nods slowly, tracing the rim of her now-empty mug with one finger. “Okay. Then, I guess the path forward is clear.”
“It is?” I ask, trusting she’ll clue me in.
She nods. “We move forward as planned, but with one very important change. From now on, the relationship part is real for…however long it lasts. And who knows? Maybe I’ll have a hard time getting pregnant, and we’ll have plenty of time to get good and sick of each other before it’s time to call it quits.”
“Maybe,” I agree, but I don’t believe it.
I won’t get sick of her. More likely, she’ll grow frustrated with me, the way other women have before her, and move on to someone else. But that’s always the way this was going to end. At least now, we don’t have to play games or pretend we aren’t feeling emotions far stronger than friendship or respect for our partner in this strange venture.
This way, we can just enjoy the time we have.
It might actually be…fun.
“And one thing’s for certain,” Elaina says, hopping off her stool and circling around the island, her mug in hand. “It’ll be way easier to fool your mom if we’re not fooling her. I felt bad about that part anyway. She’s such a sweetheart.” She stops in front of me, pushing out her bottom lip as she lifts her mug. “Please sir, I need some more.”
I arch a brow. “There were two shots of espresso in the first one.”
“Yes, but four is a better number than two,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And I run a coffee shop, dude. Do you really think I chose that barista thug life because I enjoy consuming a responsible amount of caffeine? No, I like to be wired for sound from seven a.m. to three p.m. Maybe four if I’m planning to stay up past ten.”
“You’re going to have to cut down eventually, coffee thug,” I warn as I take her mug. “Too much caffeine isn’t safe during pregnancy.”
She sighs. “I know, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Until then, coffee is my friend, and I really need you to teach me to use the fancy machine. I obviously have the normal latte situation on lock, but this thing confused me so much that I did the French Press while you were gone.”
“Stay. I will teach you my ways,” I say. “And then, once you’re dressed, I’ll take you out to brunch before I swing by the office, how about that?”
She looks up at me, her expression brightening. “Yeah? Like a date? Our first real date?” She frowns. “Or any kind of date, really, since I don’t think dinner with your mother really qualifies.”
“It doesn’t. And yes. A real date. Though I will be going over to Mom’s again later this afternoon. We do tea and cards on Wednesday, dinner on Fridays, and I take her out for a walk in the park on Sunday or sometimes a Broadway matinee if she’s up for it. She hasn’t been recently, but I got three tickets to The Music Man for this weekend. Just in case.”