Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Sam leaned over and kissed my cheek. “We love you. We just want you to be happy. And we wanted to find out if you’re truly happy.”
“I am happy,” I insisted. “I just…”
They were patient while the servers began delivering steaming dishes in copper pots to our table. Once we were alone again, I admitted in a small voice, “I was just expecting there to be a fiery passion. And I’m having to come to terms with the fact it’s not always like that.”
The silence around the table became awkward.
“Right?” I asked. My heart pounded in my chest.
I could tell from the expressions on their faces I was wrong, but I also knew they didn’t have the experience I did. The kind of experience that equated fiery passion with the kind of man who wouldn’t commit… and comfortable sweetness with the one who would.
I was tired of wanting the fiery passion if it meant I couldn’t also have someone steady to come home to at night.
“I’m going to tell Jake I love him,” I decided.
But a week later, on Valentine’s Day no less, I still hadn’t done it.
“Mr. Warren, do we have to show our work on the math sheet?” Clary Scott asked, crinkling her nose. “Because what if we just know the answers?”
I smiled at her, trying to retain my patience after an endless day by glancing at the construction paper hearts strung over the window long enough to take a breath. “I believe I’ve already answered that question, Clary. Tyrell? What’s your question?”
Tyrell stopped bouncing his knee and leaned forward. “Can we use the app on our phones?”
Thankfully, before I responded with a snarky comment, Onika came to the classroom and waved me out into the hallway. I told my students to get started on the math sheet without their phones, and then I stepped into the hall. “What’s up?”
She handed me an enormous Valentine’s bouquet overflowing with pink roses, lavender tulips, and red carnations, all dusted in heart-shaped confetti. Tucked between the flowers were foil-wrapped chocolate kisses and a miniature mailbox stuffed with tiny paper love notes. The vase was shaped like a fat bumblebee with hearts for eyes, and a shiny balloon hovered above, declaring in curly script: “Bee mine!”
“From your boyfriend,” Onika teased. “Everyone in the office is obsessed with your Jake. He’s just the sweetest.”
As I took the arrangement in my arms, flashing Onika an appreciative smile, my stomach swooped and bounced uncomfortably.
I didn’t love big, flashy gifts. They reminded me of my father, always showing off for his friends.
Though, obviously I appreciated the thought. Of course I did.
“He is,” I agreed. “The sweetest.”
And he was. Even my friends had agreed the other night that Jake was one of the good ones.
After years of dating the worst guys in San Francisco, it seemed my luck had finally changed because Jake ticked every single box and then some. He was so easy to love and be loved by, only a fool wouldn’t be head over heels for him.
Only. A. Fool.
“You two have plans tonight?” Onika asked eagerly.
I shook my head. “No, thank goodness. I begged Jake for a night in, now that my certification finals are over. Between classes, studying for finals, staying out too late with my friends last week, and a room full of kids hopped up on Valentine’s candy, all I want is a quiet night of takeout and falling asleep in front of the television.”
Since Onika was in the middle of her own hectic schedule of supervising the school play, she understood. “That sounds amazing. Bet that cutie of yours will surprise you with a foot rub too.”
I smiled tightly. The one time I’d hinted at wanting a massage, he’d turned it into a whole thing with candlelight, spa music, and heated aromatherapy oil. He’d spent the entire time narrating what he was doing and explaining the research he’d done to get it right. Reassuring him he was doing a good job and thanking him for the effort had left me more tense than I’d been before the “relaxation session.”
“God, I hope not,” I murmured.
As I returned to the classroom to the “oohs” and “ahhs” of the students over my flower arrangement, my stomach did the swoop-bounce again, this time with a shade of annoyance thrown in. There was no room for the beautiful but distracting bouquet on my already crowded desk—a fact I’d mentioned to Jake the last two times he’d sent me over-the-top bouquets at school. And as the rest of the school day progressed, I found myself battling my own damned flower arrangement for the kids’ attention, which almost made me pop the fucking balloon and throw the rest of the flowers out of the second-floor window and into the street.
I was being ungrateful. I knew it.
Just like I knew it was ungrateful to feel like the constant barrage of invitations from the Spellmans was more an obligation than a joy, while I was still grieving my dad.