Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
I peel myself away from Dec, pouting my sullenness as I do, and creep around his bedroom, collecting my things. I’m halfway down the stairs when Lynette appears, a basket of washing resting on her hip. I stop, clutching the balustrade, feeling all kinds of awkward. “Morning.” I smile, that’s awkward too, and shift on the spot.
“Morning, Camryn.” Her smile isn’t awkward at all. It’s as genuine as a smile can be. She’s not surprised I’m here. “Can I get you a coffee or anything?”
I descend the rest of the stairs and slip my heels on, unable to stop my thoughts from locking down on that. She’s not surprised I’m here. “No, thank you, I really have to get myself home or I’ll be late for work.”
“You weren’t expecting to stay?” she asks, carrying on to the kitchen, talking over her shoulder as she goes.
“I definitely wasn’t expecting to stay,” I say quietly, following her. And had I known it had been five years, I would have been more doubtful to be having a sleepover. Five years. I just can’t wrap my head around that. I wouldn’t be able to with any man, but Dec? He’s the full package. Was he being honest? I cock my head. Why would he lie about that? “Does Dec have overnight guests often?” I blink my surprise, recoiling at my own question. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I was only supposed to ask that in my head.”
Lynette chuckles, dumping the basket on the island. “If I were in your shoes, I’d probably be asking that question too.”
My nose wrinkles. “It was inappropriate.”
“I’ve worked for Dec for four years.”
“Definitely inappropriate.”
“And I’ve never known him to have a guest overnight.”
My stomach flutters. “But he’s had guests?” Why the hell am I digging?
“Never.”
“No one?”
“I assume you’re talking about the female variety.” She flicks on the coffee machine.
“I need to learn to control my mouth, clearly.” I point behind me, guilt getting me good. Of course he wouldn’t lie. I know he’s a good man, and now, frankly, I feel utterly ashamed of myself for doubting that. But, in my defence, he did not have sex like it was the first time in nearly five years. “I’ll just get my coat. Dec’s asleep, I didn’t want to disturb him.”
“Should I give him a message?”
I pause for thought at the door. She thinks I’m running out too. “Do you have a pen and paper?”
She smiles, and something tells me she’s pleased as she opens a drawer and pulls out a pad and pencil, pushing it toward me before giving me some privacy and disappearing through a door at the end of the kitchen—the laundry room, I assume. Picking up the pen and bending over the counter, not overthinking, I just writing what my heart tells me to write.
I’m not running. Thank you for being wonderfully you. Camryn x
I set the pen down and find my bag in the hallway, throwing it on my shoulder and letting myself out. “Oh my God,” I breathe, stepping into a flurry of snowflakes. A blanket of white hides the steps down to the street again, ready to be shovelled away. My gaze drops to my heels, the toes kissing the blanket of snow, my shoes safe in the sliver of ground by the front door that the snow hasn’t reached. “Damn.” I drop my bag, wedging my hand in the doorframe to prop myself up, and change into my boots. Crunching my way down the steps, I look back at Dec’s house in the dim light of an early December morning.
It's picture-perfect.
Like the man who lives here.
My eyes peek left and right to the other houses on the street. All have fairy lights on the box hedging and trees flanking the front doors. Uniform. As if the residents have consulted each other on the theme for this year and understated and classy won the vote. No colour. No fuss.
Just pretty fairy lights, the tone a warm yellow glow, decorate each house.
Except Dec’s.
I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas.
I hum, hugging myself, and start ploughing through the snow to the nearest Tube, feeling the aftereffects of Dec Ellis, the flesh of my inner thighs tender and my insides aching deeply.
Can you breathe when we’re close? Because I can’t.
And it truly is for the best reasons.
I smile, accepting and appreciating the true happiness that courses through me. And it’s okay.
I’m okay feeling happy.
I should have anticipated it. The Tubes weren’t running. All cancelled, the snow now surpassing a few inches, which takes it from disruptive to disastrous. So I trudged my way through the snow, constantly checking my Uber app for a car close by. They were thin on the ground, only drivers with vehicles built to handle the snow working.
Which wasn’t many.
Which meant I walked for a solid forty minutes until one close by popped up and I nabbed it.