Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 112884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“Can I have an iced shaken espresso?” I order. “No milk, no sweetener.” She nods her head and I hear noise coming from beside me and turn to look at Lexi.
“That sounds so gross.” I can’t help but laugh at the cute face she’s making. “Why didn’t you order something to eat?”
“Did you see how big that roll is? It’s the size of your head. I don’t think you are going to finish it.”
“I’m not sharing with you.” She gawks at me. “You asked me to have coffee with you. You didn’t say let’s have coffee and share a cinnamon roll. Besides”—she turns and leans her hip into the counter—“I’m going to take home the rest and have it in bed later tonight while I watch my reality television.”
“You won’t share even a bite with me?” I ask her and she just shakes her head. “I’ll take my chances.” We stare at each other, the lightness of her eyes making them pop even more.
The girl comes over and places the tray down in front of us as she tells us the total. “If you reach for your wallet,” I threaten, grabbing my own wallet from my pocket, “I’m definitely going to take a bite of your cinnamon roll. I asked you to have coffee with me, I pay. Next time you ask me to have coffee with you, you can pay.” I hand the girl my card and she takes it, swiping it on her machine, and then handing me the white receipt. “Why don’t you grab a table and I’ll bring the tray over.”
“You think there’s going to be a next time AND I’m going to leave you alone with my cinnamon roll? You are crazy.” She shakes her head, trying not to laugh at the whole silly exchange. I can’t help but smile back at the light in her eyes that already looks so different from three months ago.
I grab the tray and then walk over to the table in the corner, facing the window outside. I take off my baseball hat and toss it on the ledge of the window, in between the potted plants, before sitting down. She sits in front of me and grabs the fork on the tray. “Thank you for the sweet treat,” she says, right before she sinks the fork in the side of it.
“Lexi,” I say her name and she looks up at me. The way I said her name was a bit harder than I wanted it to be, confusion fills her face. “Before we talk about anything else”—I swallow—“I want to apologize for ruining your fundraiser,” I tell her as I rub my hands on the front of my shorts, the nerves making them sweat. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me, and I know you worked so hard to make everything perfect, and I should have—”
She smiles at me and shakes her head to stop me from talking. “You didn’t ruin the night.” I take a deep inhale, grabbing my plastic cup with the black straw. “Other things that night ruined it, but you definitely didn’t.”
She takes a bite of the cinnamon roll and avoids looking at me. “How have you been?” I ask her softly as she chews and then takes a sip of her own coffee.
“Okay.” She moves her head side to side, still avoiding looking at me. “Rough.” The only thing I can see is she looks even better than she did before. Her eyes don’t have that haunted look. Her guard isn’t up at all, she’s still a little standoffish, but considering it all, that’s to be expected. “You knew something was off.” She finally breaks the silence and then looks up at me. “You knew I was going through something.”
“I did,” I admit to her. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
“I know you didn’t.” She puts the fork down. “Because if you did, my family would have swooped in like a SWAT team sent in to extract me.” She tries to laugh, but I can see her lower lip tremble. “How?” she asks me softly. “How did you know?”
“It’s a long story,” I tell her. “But yeah, I had a feeling.” She doesn’t push it. “What was the breaking point?” I ask her.
“That night.” She exhales. “That night when I stepped out onto the balcony and heard him say those things.” I look up at the ceiling and she reaches over and puts her hand on mine; her hand is cold as ice, and I wonder how nervous she is about this conversation. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t say them.” I turn my hand over to have her palm in mine. “He blamed me about the scene and then sent me home by myself.”
“What a piece of shit,” I hiss and turn to look out the window. “He’s such—”