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)
“I can’t bail on work, Dom.”
“No one’s asking you. I’m sure you’re the best tour guide in the world, but no one is going to show up, and we both know that.”
Hesitantly, I pick up my phone and call Jenine. She owns both the witchcraft store and the night tour. She answers with a thick smoker’s cough.
“Crazy storm, huh? Haven’t seen one like that since the eighties. We’d better not see a power outage. I’m too old for this shit.” She has this habit of starting a conversation from the middle.
“That’s what I was calling you about.” Just as I answer her, a tree collapses over a power line outside. On the street is a heap of wires and wood. “Crap. I think I need to call 911 and report that,” I say.
“I’m on it.” Dom dials up the emergency number and wanders to the little kitchenette at the back of the shop, leaving wet shoe prints everywhere.
“So, I’m guessing you know the answer to your question.” I hear Jenine lighting up a cigarette.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No one in their right mind is going to get out of the house in this weather. Not to mention, if you catch something, you’ll be missing much more than a couple days’ work. I’ll handle the cancellation.”
I’m hanging up the phone just as Dom reappears beside me. “Help’s on the way.”
“Thanks. I’m off for the rest of the day.” I grab the flowers and the chocolate box from the floor, then press them to my chest. “That was sweet.”
Dom grins. He is so wholesome. So vibrant. “I am sweet.”
“Right. And it will take me time to get used to it.”
Dom takes a step forward and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I have all the time in the world,” he says slowly, meaningfully. “Or at least, I hope I do.”
“Let’s draw you a bath. Race you to the car,” I suggest, snapping us out of the moment. Things got heavy for a second there.
“Which car?” He tugs me by the collar of my shirt, frowning. “Mine or yours?”
I think about it. “Yours. You can drive me back here later. Because, you know, we’re not going to have sex.” Just putting it out there, in case he gets any ideas. I like Dom a lot, but I also don’t feel ready yet. Not only do I still not believe I deserve good things, but I’m also not 100 percent over Joe.
“None whatsoever. No sex.” Dom raises his fingers in a scout’s honor.
We race it to his car, giggling and shoving at each other and ducking our heads like we can escape the rain. We both accept the unspoken truth of it.
That I’m not going to go back to get my car tonight.
I’m going to stay at his place. We’ll cuddle, and watch movies, and make food, and make out. Pretending for one perfect day that I’m a normal girl. Just like Nora.
Because somewhere deep down, I think I still am.
NINE
Dom and I cover a lot in the four weeks that follow the storm.
We go to Boston—twice—once to the zoo, and another time for a ferry ride by the harbor (or harbah, as he calls it). We visit the New Bedford Whaling Museum, check out the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, and take a day trip to New York when both our schedules permit. We eat one-dollar oysters in Lynn and hit up an old record store in Ipswich. We ride bikes, smell flowers, run to the balcony, and dance every time it rains. Staying true to his promise, he drinks his morning coffee from my clay mug. At least when he doesn’t work night shifts.
I haven’t done so many things since my trip to Barcelona with Pippa, but Dominic insists I have the full Massachusetts experience. “You’ve spent enough time in New England purgatory. You’re one of us now.” He hooks his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close when we leave an axe-throwing joint. “Time for an early suppah.”
Indeed, we cover a lot in the four weeks we date. Other than one serious milestone—we haven’t had sex yet.
We’ve cuddled, we’ve spooned, we’ve fallen asleep holding each other, and we make out all the time, but we haven’t gone all the way yet. I still fear taking the final step. Maybe because having sex is admitting the girl I created six years ago is no longer there. It’s not like I’m not attracted to him. I truly am. And I don’t know many men on the cusp of thirty who would wait around for a woman to have sex with him. But so far Dom has been understanding and hasn’t pushed the subject.
The weekend before Thanksgiving, Dom picks me up for a dinner date. It’s the first time we’ve gone out to a restaurant in Salem, and it feels like we’re officializing our relationship. Christening our hometown, so to speak.