Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I can’t help it. Reaching over, I place my hand over his. “Foster, she didn’t fight either. There are two people in a relationship, and the fallout is not all on you.”
“It is. I could have given it all up for her. I could have followed her to medical school.”
“That’s not fair to either of you, and you would have ended up resenting that she got to live her dream, and you didn’t.”
“I loved her.”
“Sometimes, love isn’t enough.”
He turns those dark brown eyes my way. “You ever been in love, Eden?”
I shake my head, swallowing hard. “I never let anyone get close enough. I never got close enough to fall in love. It’s hard for me to trust people, and yeah, that hinders the whole love thing, as well.”
“Do you trust me?” he asks, leaning in close.
I hold his stare. “I think I do.” I swallow hard as I keep my eyes locked on his.
“I don’t trust easily either. The guys, they’ve earned my trust, but still, you’re the first person, other than my ex, that I’ve opened up to about my life growing up. I don’t know if it’s because I know our backgrounds are so similar, or if there’s something in my soul that recognizes yours, but I trust you.” He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I hope one day, you’ll trust me, too,” he whispers.
He leans in a little closer, and I lick my lips because I may not have much experience with love or dating, but I know when a man is thinking about kissing me. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I do trust him, but something holds me back. I start to lean into him just as my cell phone rings, jolting me.
Foster slowly settles back into his chair, his eyes still locked with mine. I break the spell as I look down at the island and my phone. No one ever calls me but work and my best friend, Carrie, and it’s her name that’s flashing at me on the screen. I stare at the phone as if it offended me, which is why I don’t see him lean close.
His lips brush against my temple. “Answer it,” he says, grabbing our empty plates and standing, moving toward the sink.
Exhaling a heavy breath, I pick up my phone, noticing a slight tremble in my hands, swipe at the screen, and place it next to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, you,” Carrie’s cheerful voice greets me. “What are you doing for dinner? I thought you could come and eat with us. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”
“Like two weeks.” I chuckle. I don’t know what I did in life to have Carrie be a part of my journey, but I’m forever grateful. “I actually already had dinner.”
“Boo,” she says. “Fine, dessert then. Nick and the girls made double-chocolate cupcakes.”
“That sounds too good to pass up,” I tell her, my eyes on Foster’s back as he loads the dishwasher.
“So, we’ll see you soon?”
“I’ll be there. Give me an hour or so.” I don’t want to rush out of here, not after whatever that moment was that just passed between us.
“Sounds good. Be safe. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I answer quickly before the line goes dead. “That was Carrie, my best friend. She invited me for dinner, and since I’ve already eaten, she offered dessert,” I explain, because the only other option is to ask him why he kissed me. Okay, it was his lips pressed to my temple, but that’s a kiss in my book, and I need to know what I have to do to be on the receiving end of more of them.
Even as I think the thought, I know it’s a terrible idea, but quietly, with each meal we share, each story of our past, and each smile, I’m leaning into him. Leaning, falling, whatever you want to call it. It’s bad. It’s so bad, but I don’t know how to stop it.
“Dessert is always good,” he says, turning to face me. His arms are braced behind him on the counter, but those dark eyes stare deep into my soul.
“Her husband and daughters made double-chocolate cupcakes.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him to come with me. I know Carrie and Nick wouldn’t mind, but I keep my mouth shut. He’s my pseudo-boss. We might have shared something, which I’m not sure about just now, but it was the moment. All the sharing and talking about our pasts and his ex, that’s all this was. I can’t let myself read too much into it.
“Sounds nice,” he says. His eyes are dark, and there’s a look on his face that I can’t read, and I hate that. Suddenly, I want to know everything about this man—all his tells—and I want to be able to read him, communicate silently.