Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I look at her—her pretty face with lips I kissed until the pink turned deeper, those eyes that are more vibrantly green at night, and her hair trailing over her shoulders. There’s so much more blond than I remember, only serving to highlight her beautiful face even more by how the strands frame it.
She had it up when we stopped at her car, so I’m curious why she took it down. A heaviness stretches between us when our eyes stay hooked too long. I’m at a loss for words when it comes to where we stand.
Do I drag our past into the present or ignore it like she’s so brilliantly doing?
“Good night.” The door closes, almost clipping her word in half.
“Fuck.” I get out, grab the bag, and rush to meet her at the back of the truck. Not knowing what to say to her, I go where I said I wouldn’t. “Why don’t you know my name?”
The question makes her smile despite my chest constricting in pain. Maybe that’s what she gets off on. “Fuck.” I drag my hand through my hair and point at the single cabin tucked in the woods behind us. “It’s still open.” I hand her the bag, and add, “I’ll drop the rest of your stuff off outside the door.”
“I can—”
“I’ve got it!” I grip the top of the tailgate, squeezing it so hard my knuckles whiten. I don’t look at her again. I don’t give her another second of my life. I can’t. I didn’t survive her the first time, so there’s no surviving her again.
The crunch of leaves under her feet is the only thing left between us. That, and the land between the two cabins.
It’s good she’s leaving tomorrow. I don’t know how she’s planning on getting out of here, but it’s not my problem. She’s not my problem anymore.
Though I find some of the items she brought to hack me into little pieces intriguing, I leave her stuff where I said I would and walk away. It’s best for me to protect myself from her—not only the knives but from stealing my soul twice.
Shoving my hands in my jean pockets, I cross the divide between us and dust off the bottom of an old pair of hiking boots I left up here a few years back. They’re working for me since the property needs some cleaning of the grounds.
I stop on the porch and take the time to view the lake. For as much friction as there’s been tonight, the lake is calm, the sky clear, and the moon reflecting its twin across the top of the water. It’s turned colder than expected when I checked the forecast before arriving, so when I go inside, I secure the main cabin, close a window that I left open when I was heated from our argument, and make sure the doors are locked.
Switching off lights would normally feel like a chore, but with each one, I get a better sense of privacy until I’m seated in the dark and left alone with my thoughts.
Reception can be spotty based on the time of year, but I keep checking my phone for any missed calls or a text from Nikki. I have neither, and it’s getting late, so I probably won’t hear from her until tomorrow. Sucks to have to wait to figure out how she pulled off this scheme and, more importantly, why?
None of this makes sense.
I have more to deal with than when I arrived, and I’m still not sure what Poppy’s intentions were when she showed up. It’s like she doesn’t know me at all, like Austin was so forgettable that even seeing me doesn’t jog her memory.
Resting forward, I drop my head into my hands and rub my face. It won’t change anything other than scrubbing away some of the frustration she’s caused. Then and now. I should go to bed, get some sleep, and come morning, I’ll know if I only imagined the whole thing.
A soft rap on the door redirects me. Knowing who it is, I want to swing it open, kiss her to show her how much I’ve missed her, and make love to her again. But that’s not the Poppy who’s knocking. I don’t know who she is, not like I thought I did.
With my hands pressed to the wood, I debate whether to answer it. The lights are out, so she wouldn’t know whether I’d gone to bed or that I’m standing here dying to hold her in my arms again.
As much as she infuriates me by the lack of answers, confuses me with what she’s even doing here, and worries me with her knife obsession, I already know the answer. I open the door.
She’s changed clothes but still looks fucking amazing in a pair of baggy sweatpants and a sweater that hangs down to her thighs. She can’t even make the ugly pink beanie look bad despite it being embroidered with FARIS WHEEL – THE DeTOUR on it.