Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
She gives me the address at Pickering Wharf Marina, and I write it down on the back of my hand before calling an Uber.
It’s yet another journey, but this one is quick and relatively painless. I spend the ride trying to flatten my hair into submission and get rid of the sleep from around my eyes.
Then finally—finally—I’m there. I hop out of the Uber and run toward a cluster of trucks and cargo containers. There are people around wearing orange hard hats and matching safety vests.
“Joseph!” I call out to a few of the men there, completely out of breath. “I’m looking for Joseph Graves. Or just Seph. Or just Joe.”
They lift their eyes from the clipboard one of them holds and scan me. They must think I’m crazy. They’re not completely off base.
“You want Joe?” one of them asks.
“Yes,” I say. “God, yes. Wanting him is an understatement.” But maybe I should save this declaration for the man I came here for, and not this random person. The guy lifts one eyebrow, obviously reassessing if he should disclose his colleague’s whereabouts. For the first time in my life, I feel unabashedly myself. Free and unhinged.
“Who’s asking?”
“His late brother’s fiancé.” I pause. “Oh! And his ex-girlfriend.” I stop and frown. “Hopefully, his current girlfriend too. If things go right for me.”
One of the men turns to the other two. “I knew he liked eccentric, but this is laying it on thick.”
They laugh. I don’t care. I just want to find him.
Finally, the guy with the clipboard tilts his chin toward the water. “See the forklift over there?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s inside. Good luck catching his attention. He listens to rock music on full blast.”
I jog there with a huge smile on my face, because it is such a Joe thing to do. Listen to angry music while lifting heavy shit. I catch a glimpse of the yellow forklift before I see Joe. The closer I get, the more he comes into view. He looks miserable, his frown deep, his lips flat. He’s never been more beautiful in his life. He’s on the dock, in front of a ship, unloading giant crates. I’m about to approach him when a woman steps between the forklift and me.
“Excuse me, this is private property.”
“I understand, but see this guy behind you?” I point over her shoulder. “He is the love of my life, and I need to tell him that.”
I am bursting with excitement, expecting her to Aww and Why didn’t you say that? To get out of my way. Can someone please finally grant me one perfect movie moment?
“Who, Joe?” She throws a look at the forklift, popping her gum. “Well, you can tell him that from where you’re standing. No trespassing, ma’am. We’re unloading expensive things here.”
“Seriously?” I growl. “I’m not going to steal anything.”
“And I wasn’t going to eat an entire sleeve of RITZ Crackers yesterday. But then I did. Fickle is human nature. Stay here and call him.”
When I see there is no reasoning with her, I resort to acting fully insane. I guess I deserve it, after everything I’ve put Joe through.
I cup my mouth and go at it.
“Joe! Joseph!”
He doesn’t hear me. He has massive headphones on.
“Joe! Hey! Over here! Joe! Joe!”
I start jogging in a line parallel with the direction the forklift takes. He continues about his day, oblivious. Lifting crates with the forklift. Putting them somewhere else. Then again. And again.
“Joe! Hey! Hey!”
I’m aware of the dozens of pairs of eyes looking at me in amusement. Every longshoreman around who isn’t Joe has caught up on the fact that I am trying to grab his attention. I continue jogging in the same line as Joe, my eyes on him, until I collide with a huge crate and fall on the ground.
“Aww.”
That, of all things, gets his attention. Maybe it was the thud I made as I hit the metal crate. Joe pushes one headphone down and turns his head. He squints, then frowns. I don’t think he is too happy to see me. My heart sinks.
“Ever?” he asks coldly.
“Joe!” I moan.
I’m still lying flat on the ground. Joe turns off the forklift but doesn’t make a move toward me. I have a feeling he still suspects I came here just to tell him in another creative way that we can never be together. I get up and dust myself off, ignoring our growing audience and the embarrassment I must be causing him.
“Joe, I came back.” I open my arms in the air, smiling like an idiot.
“I can see that.” His expression is grim.
“Can we talk?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you not going to run off on me in the middle of our chat? It seems to be your expertise.”
“Burn.” The woman who gave me trouble laughs.
I shake my head, knowing I deserve all of this and more. “I promise not to run away unless you try to kill me, which . . . honestly? I wouldn’t blame you for doing. Even then, I’d give you a head start.”