Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
She lets out a snort-laugh that fizzles with relief. “If you want the hug, you can have the hug. All the hugs. Right now, too, or you can take a rain check and save them for later.”
It’s half terrifying when she leans in. The other half hits me hard, winding me when her arms wrap around my shoulders. She’s much shorter than I am, and since I’m standing frozen and not bending down, she has to reach up. Way up. It’s the most awkward hug. She does it without leaning in at first, letting me get used to her arms on my shoulders like she’s gentling something wild. Her chest presses in next, her soft parts squishing up against me. Her arms tighten, and the hug happens.
Then, she lets me go and steps back before my brain can send all the wrong signals to all the wrong parts of my body. But the mouse wheel does register that she smells good and that most of the scent clings to her hair, smelling like flowers and grilled cheese. Who knew that could be the most intoxicatingly exotic combo?
My legs are shaky and solid all at once. The mouse in my skull is running the wheel so fast that he’s doing front flips and backflips and is about to send the wheel spinning right off its hinges.
“That was…it wasn’t the worst,” I admit with more than a small dose of honesty. It wasn’t the worst, even though she had seen me at just about that point or at least heard about it. Even before I told her, it was like she could see right through me.
I should be running because this is not usual, and it’s not cool. I’m scared half to death, terrified of finding this treasure in the wild. I’m used to the way my life is. I’m used to being alone and knowing that’s the way I’ll always be. I’m used to loneliness, to having a world so full of people all around you and having no real connections, to a family that doesn’t have your back.
What I’m not used to is this.
All of this.
“Are you going to quit now? It would be perfectly understandable if you wanted to.”
Amalphia’s nostrils flare as she shakes her head. She looks at me like the alien toads are now making a landing, but instead of freaking out and running around, she’s more than okay with their extra toad toadiness because she loves big warty toads.
Without consciously doing it, I reach up and rub at the sore spot in my chest.
“Why would I quit?” She crosses back to the table full of robotic pieces and strokes one leg lovingly. “I think you should get a real dog. Or…or a crab or something. Maybe a bird. A fish? Even if you weren’t allowed to have a pet in the past, you have your own home now. You make the rules. I know you work a lot, but I could help out. Besides, a fish or a crab is perfectly capable of being left on their own for short periods of time. Cats are too. They’re pretty much masters of their own destiny who reward you for being in their life with purrs and headbutts and all their amazing cat wonderfulness.”
This. Woman. Did I mention she has my number?
Literally. More than just what I gave her on the business card and texted her after.
She has numbers I didn’t even know I owned.
My throat closes up, and it’s all I can do to murmur a few words. “I’ll think about it.”
She’s not going to press. Instead, she gets her shimmering, fascinated, please tell me all the secrets of the world expression back. “Can you show me how the dog is going to work?” She points at the computer. “And explain everything, even if I don’t get it at all?”
After I just stumbled through the past painful hours, lost in the past, lost in everything I’m not good at, and tumbling forward like a blind man, this is something I can do. It’s something I can do well.
I can’t help but feel like this is yet another gift she’s giving to me.
“Absolutely. I’d be more than happy to.”
Chapter seven
Amalphia
As far as places of my own, I’ve never been able to afford anything past the tiny apartment I moved into right before I met Reginald. The building I was in before that was converted into a condo, so unless you were buying, you had to move out. It was tremendously sad because it was a lovely brick building with all sorts of character. Despite the fact that the boiler often broke down in the middle of winter, always on the coldest of days, I loved it.
The one I moved into after, with its plain yellow vinyl sidings and its token white wrought iron balconies, never felt like home. I did what I could, buying a few paintings for the walls and thrifting some handmade quilts, Afghans, and other décor. I built my teapot collection up and displayed all the charming porcelain and pottery on top of the cupboards in the kitchen and on the bookshelf in the living room. It wasn’t that the furniture was secondhand or that the place was rundown. It didn’t matter that there was hardly ever hot water for showers and the appliances didn’t work properly. I mean, it mattered, but that’s not what made it feel like a temporary residence. It just never felt like me. It never felt right.