Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
He’s not smiling.
I grip the desk ledge and glance around. No one is here to witness this. Or to hear me. I don’t ask him if he’s okay. I’ve asked that way too much, and it’s a yes or no question. So are the rest of the questions I can think to ask, but it can’t be helped.
“Did you get your results?”
He doesn’t look at me funny. He knows the clinic tried calling me first. He doesn’t look mad, though. About that. Or upset. “I did.”
It can’t be bad. He’s not a wreck. Please, don’t let it be bad. Don’t let this be the craziest poker face that ever existed. Please, just let him be fine.
“Is…is everything…what did they say? The tests?”
“Do you have somewhere where we can talk? Can I take you for lunch?”
“I, uh, I actually don’t take a lunch break. I’m usually too busy. I get paid if I work through it. There are clients coming in shortly, and I have lots of work to get done. I…there won’t be anyone coming in or out of here for a while. We’re good here if you’re good. Or I could meet you somewhere after work. I know that’s a long time to wait, but—”
“After work is fine. Will you come over?”
“To your house?” I squeak.
“Yes, that’s right. If that works?”
“Uh, okay. Sure. Yes. I get off at five. See you around six with the commute time?”
That makes his lips edge up, and I let out a breath. There can’t be anything wrong. He wouldn’t be here, smiling at me, if there was something wrong. “You’re still the same, Darby,” he says softly like he expected me to be different for some reason. He doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing, though. “See you at six.”
He walks out, and honestly, I just stand there glued to the spot, blinking in the direction of the empty space he just occupied. I can still smell him. The hairs on my arms stand on end. It’s like he might have been a ghost—a dream. Oh god, did I fall asleep at my desk, and this whole thing was a crazy dream?
I sit down hard, or at least I go to sit down, not realizing my chair is still up against the copier. I let out a shrill scream as I find only air. I was going for a hard sit down, too, so I got my way, except the hard part is the floor, and the sit down is my rump.
“Ouch.” I pop up quickly, which, in a freaking skirt suit and heels, isn’t easy to do. I rub my bottom and curse at the chair, tugging it closer before I sit down properly. Nope. Not a dream. This pain is real, and the pain in my heart is real too. It’s not the nasty kind of despairing pain but the pain of joy and care and hope.
The day doesn’t drag just because my brain is doing weird brain things while my heart is doing weird heart things all day. I’m basically run off my toes, which is good because then I don’t have time to think or dwell. The only time my brain gets worked up with overthinking is on the drive over to Leon’s house because it’s nowhere near my workplace, and traffic is thick.
My steering wheel is actually kind of slippery when I pull into Leon’s driveway. I love his house and how it’s all modern and fancy on the outside with dark colors and brown woods, but on the inside, it’s homey and filled with comfortable furniture and art that he actually probably likes. I even saw a family photo of him and his sister when I was there, a framed strip of photos like the ones you get in those booths at the mall. Kitty probably had that done for him, but he’d agreed to those photos in the first place.
Leon definitely has a softer side—the playful, childlike, innocent, sweet side of him. I love that it’s still there. His house, decorated like he actually lives there, his love of grilled cheese, that strip of photos, his tousled bedhead, his wonder at eating that burned marshmallow off my fingers, and the gentle way he always held me—they’re all proof.
Leon answers the door right away, and he’s not wearing a suit anymore. He’s gone straight for my ultimate weakness, putting on those soft jeans of his. He’s still wearing his dress shirt, and the sleeves are rolled up. Also, he’s not wearing his hand. It’s just him. Beautiful. Hard. Soft. Leon.
My mouth dries out, and my heart flutters. I’m already weak-kneed and messed up internally from a day at work anticipating this.
He smiles, and my god, he’s beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile that way before. Like there’s nothing that hurts, and he’s been freed from all the burdens and demons he was carrying around with him. “I made dinner,” he says. “Come in.”