Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
That's what you should do, dummy. Just stop this. You're living in a fantasy.
Evan seems to be searching for something to say. His eyes, on me, burn. I swallow and he tilts his head a little, looking unhappily perplexed. “I didn't deserve what you did for me, but I appreciate it.” He looks me over, head to toe. “You're a good person, Meredith Kinsey.”
Before I can respond, he lowers his hand and turns to go back to the table. He glances at me over his shoulder as he moves, and when he sits down, he bites into a piece of sausage. I move back behind the island and force myself to be calm, the way I would be if one of my children got hurt and I didn't want to alarm them. I force myself to behave calmly as I eat my own breakfast, but internally, I'm going a million miles an hour.
I feel mortified. Desperate. Hungry. The feeling is familiar, and from long ago: It reminds me of the way I felt about Sam, the assistant band director. My first full-on crush.
I pour myself a glass of water and sigh, because how typical is that? Will I always be the blushing girl with the inappropriate crush?
Well, I guess I’m not blushing anymore, that’s for sure, but this guy is still very much off limits. Not because of all the many obvious things, but because of my secret. The one he doesn't know—and I won't tell him. The one that’s the likeliest of all my baggage to reach across time and distance to end me.
What I should tell him is that I'm not the kind of person he thinks. I probably never was, but I'm definitely not now. “That's not even my name,” I murmur.
His eyebrows shoot up. “What's your name?”
I shake my head. “Kinsey wasn't ever really mine. It was the name I took on when I was adopted.”
Silence spreads its roots between us and I think about everything Evan doesn't know about me. I wonder if he'll find out when I get into the States. If his colleagues already know the most sordid part of my story. What Evan would think if he knew, too.
He doesn't seem to care about my past, but that's probably because he only knows me as a victim.
“When do you want to get on the road?” he asks. The low rumble of his voice makes me jump.
I push my hair out of my face and try to look less spazzy. I shrug. “Tomorrow maybe? Like really early in the morning. They tend not to be out then.”
“Sure.” He stands up. All traces of his earlier moodiness are gone, and I get a pleasant vibe again—the kind of vibe that says we might be friends. “And you’re sure no one knows about this place?”
I shook my head. “Jesus was really good at tech stuff. This place is completely self-sufficient and off the grid.”
He nods. “I guess tonight we’ll just hang out? We could watch some TV…well, I guess no cable—”
“Jesus set up satellite somehow. It’s illegal,” I shrug, “but apparently no one can tell.”
“Satellite it is.” He smiles, a smile that looks real and gentle and handsome enough to bruise my heart. “I could use a night of relaxing and I have a feeling you could, too.”
He doesn't know how right he is.
I SPEND THE next two hours soaking in my room's tub, drying my hair, trying to assemble an outfit from the clothes I find in my drawers, and pacing around the room trying to remind myself that Evan No Last Name is no one to me. We're not friends. We're not even acquaintances. The pull I feel is because I spent the last day and a half taking care of him. And...okay, also because he's extremely attractive. And nice.
And I'm lonely. I'll admit it. I'm lonely and pathetic. I feel like a spinster and I'm still not even through my 20s. I know I won't ever walk down the aisle or shop for a new house with double vanities and his and hers closets. I won't have a family or kids. At this point, I'll be lucky if I can get into the witness protection program and befriend my neighbors without worrying that one of them will kill me on behalf of the Cientos Cartel.
I took a nice life and screwed it up because I was foolish. I messed around with a married man for money.
I remind myself that even if I allowed myself to have feelings for a man again, it wouldn’t be fair to him. I would always have to end things before they went too far.
I end up wearing men's purple work-out shorts and a V-neck white undershirt. I find some of my old mascara in the bathroom and can't resist putting it on, if only to feel a little human. It's been a long time since I wore makeup, and I'm surprised by how long my eyelashes look.