Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
It’s a surprisingly late hour when we arrive at the hotel—and it’s everything the brochure promised. Super classy décor. Soft-as-sin bed sheets. Rose petals all over the place. Balcony complete with Jacuzzi and a stunning view. Huge bathroom with a waterfall shower. Even as tired as we are, we enjoy every amenity, finishing our night with some (very) late-night room service that has us lounging on the bed like a pair of kings.
Speaking of: “So does this make you the Pumpkin King now?” I tease.
Byron smiles against my face. We’re sort of in the middle of kissing each other’s lips off. “Both of us.”
“Hmm?”
“I’d be awfully lonely as just one Pumpkin King in his big kingdom.” He kisses me. “We’re both kings.”
All of our clothes are scattered everywhere. We’re naked under these sheets, which feel like heaven against my skin, soft and silky. “I can be down with that.”
He grins. Then a moment of sincerity catches him. “I wouldn’t dream of anyone else in the whole damned world ruling by my side.”
Our lips unite again, and then we’re ruined for the rest of the night. There’s really no further use of our voices; sometimes once the kissing starts, it’s hopeless to end. The bed sheets are tousled worse. We roll over and over in each other’s arms, lips united, enveloped in one another’s love with no chance of escape.
Much later, as we lie there in each other’s arms, blanketed by the darkness of our extravagant suite, both of us right on the cusp of dreams, Byron softly says, “Griffin, babe, I’ll … I’ll understand if you miss him.”
I don’t turn to him, my eyes on the ceiling and the soft light from the balcony that scatters across it like a million stars. “How can I miss him?” I ask just as softly. “He’s always with me … like a little candle in my heart that never goes out, no matter how hard anyone blows.”
Byron seems to sits with those words for a moment. “What a beautiful thought,” he finally says, then turns his body to spoon me in his strong arms. I smile as he holds me tightly, feeling safe, sound, and complete.
Mostly complete.
-12-
One Last Candlelight
Everything moves so quickly.
One day, I’m putting socks from one of my drawers into a box labeled “KEEP”.
Another day, I’m staring at my emptied bedroom, only one old nightstand and a floor lamp remaining.
Then the fire escape is bare, all of Westley’s plants safely relocated to Byron’s, and I shut the window.
Suddenly I’m at the front door of apartment 313, completely empty, nothing in sight, yet still feeling like I’ve forgotten something.
“Don’t worry,” says Mrs. Shaheen when I meet her to hand back the keys. “Take all the time you need. I’ve no plans to lease it out anytime soon.”
“I’ve got everything,” I assure her, then extend the keys to her.
She takes them—as well as my hand, yanking me forward and closer to her face. “Seriously,” she says in a grave, deep voice. “I will leave that door unlocked, and should you feel the need to visit 313 at any time in the next week—hell, the next month—you just feel free to do so as if you still live there. Got it?”
Being this close to her face, it’s difficult to say no. Instead, I ask, “How’s your brother?”
The question catches her off-guard. Yet when she answers, her tone is as crisp and dry as her cane. “He is well. He is healthy. He is married with four cats named after sea monsters. In other words …” A tear twinkles in her eye. “… I couldn’t be a prouder sister.”
I smile. “Please keep in touch with me, okay?”
She lets go, wipes away the tear like it should never have dared to exist, then nods. “The same to you, child. Don’t forget my words. You can return. Anytime this week. Or the next. Or the next after that. Or the next—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Shaheen.” I give her a nod and a wink, hoist the last box I had filled into my arms, then make my way downstairs.
Somehow, I suspect she smiles at my back as I go.
The thing is, I really never planned to return to the old apartment. I guess I just knew it would be a futile, indulgent endeavor. Westley Harmeyer has moved on. I let myself believe the narrative Byron and I came up with: that he found his sweet Nina and the pair of them disappeared into the Beyond, happy ever after.
Since we haven’t picked out a place yet, I moved in with Byron. His apartment is gorgeous, well-kept, in a better building with actual amenities (including security and a doorman), and has space enough for both of our projects. It already feels like home, with as much time and as many nights as I’ve spent over here. I’m sure someday we’ll find our dream house to call our own and start our life together, but his place more than suffices for now, and neither of us are ready to uproot quite yet.