Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
A new wave of bewilderment bursts in his expression. “Mark Buffalo?”
“Yeah…he’s unable to resist a bad dad joke the same way I’m unable to resist expensive tequila.”
Amusement appears and disappears at the same swift speed. “Was that the first souvenir he brought you?”
“Huh,” is mindlessly grunted before a wide grin grows on my face. “Pretty sure it was.”
And it was also the first one put up in our kitchen.
His kitchen.
The kitchen we are currently sharing.
The one I hope we continue to share long after I’m done being “the client”.
“And he um…he always brings you something back? No matter where he goes?”
“Always.” I eagerly nod. “And I always make dessert to welcome him home.”
“When exactly did that start?”
“I don’t even really remember…” Clicking the pen casually begins again. “He just…came back from a mission one day…swung by my office for…something? Saw the piece of homemade angel cake I had been snacking on and asked could he try a bite.” The brightness in my beam suddenly gets brighter. Damn near blinding. “Kind of been baking him goodies ever since.”
It’s Harvey’s turn to nod, although his is slow and sad. “How come you never baked for me?” His hands fall defeatedly to his lap without waiting for a retort. “How come I didn’t even know you loved baking as much as you do?”
Unsure of how to reply, is what leads me to not.
Yup.
Silence is definitely the answer here.
I don’t always know when that’s the case, but I definitely know it is right now.
“How come I never thought to buy you little things that made me think of you?”
The change in song to the cover band version of “When I Was Your Man” by Boyce Avenue has me internally swearing like I’m Samuel Jackson in a Shaft movie.
Oh! We should put that on our action movie watch list for the week!
We both not so secretly love an impersonation contest.
He always thinks he should be crowned the winner.
Typically, he probably should.
I’m better at musical reenactment.
Harvey shifts himself around more in his seat. “How come I never kept a spare set of glasses for you in my car?”
Okay, not loving the clumsy implication there.
It’s not like me breaking them is an every other week occurrence or something!
Slater just…likes to be prepared.
Hence a spare pair in his truck.
And one on his bookshelf.
And one at his ma’s.
And one at his dad’s despite the fact we probably only go over there together every three months.
The guy is just overly cautious…although…I guess I have broken a pair at all three of those locations.
You know I didn’t think I was that klutzy until right this second.
“How come I didn’t even know you preferred to be called Arley versus Arlette?”
“It’s not that you didn’t know that,” I quietly argue. “It’s just that you always thought Arlette sounded more sophisticated than Arley. Claimed it rolled off your tongue easier and that it took less effort to remember.”
After an uncomfortably long pause, he breathlessly whispers out, “Wow.” A second slow headshake is attached to him leaning away. Creating distance. Room for his wavy, light blue words to land. “Wahl was absolutely right.”
“Well,” my tone takes a playful one, “that couldn’t have tasted good.”
“It didn’t.” Harvey struggles to smirk. “It tasted similar to bad tequila.”
“You mean cheap tequila.”
His forehead immediately wrinkles in response.
“Because there’s no such thing as bad tequila.”
Rather than engage in a much more lighthearted conversation with me he somberly sighs, “I should’ve said to hell with it and ended that conference when he called.”
“Harvey-”
“I should’ve never stood you up that first night.”
“Harv-”
“I should’ve never picked this job over you.”
Despite my mouth moving, no sound escapes.
“You deserve to feel like you matter, Arley. Truly. Matter.”
Pressing my lips closed seems like the most logical option to take.
“You deserve to feel the way I know Wahl makes you feel. The way that I can see he makes you feel even when he’s not physically. Here.” The grated lettering indicates exactly how much it pains him to admit it. “It’s the way I know I never did.” I silently study the movement of his Adam’s apple. How his shoulders sorrowfully slump. “The way I now know I never could.”
So…yeah.
I definitely broke my fucking boss.
Can I get fired for this?
“You deserve to feel like more than just the beautiful woman on a man’s arm at a gala or a benefit dinner or a Bridge tournament at the mayor’s.”
“The mayor hosts a Bridge tournament?”
“Every Labor Day weekend.”
Honestly, I wouldn’t have ever guessed that.
Eh, oh well.
It’s not like I know how to play Bridge anyway.
“Arley,” the chunkiness in the lettering recaptures my focus, “you are undoubtedly the most intelligent, most beautiful, and most thoughtful woman I’ve ever known. You deserve someone who not only appreciates those qualities but truly treasures them. Someone who never fails to prove that they value you over anything else. That you come first.” What appears to be additional guilt flutters into his gaze. “Someone who wouldn’t ever hesitate to hang up the phone for you.”