Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Here you are.” She handed me a cup full of steaming black coffee.
“Thanks.” I sat down at the kitchen table and glanced down. My blouse was still buttoned wrong. Where the hell was my brain?
“Did you have a nice time last night?” Grams asked, sitting across from me. Her eyes lingered on my screwed-up shirt.
I sighed. Oh well. “Yes.”
“How did you like the inn?”
“It’s very nice. The food was wonderful.”
Silence. Grams sipped her coffee and I sipped mine.
“What time do you think you’ll drive back today?” she asked, her tone way too innocent.
I cleared my throat. “Actually, I might stay through the weekend.”
“Oh? I thought you couldn’t stay for the weekend.”
“If it’s okay with you, I will.”
“Why, of course it is. Don’t be silly, darling. You can stay forever if you’d like.”
I smiled. “Can’t stay forever, but maybe a couple more days.”
She reached over and patted my hand. “I’ll take what I can get. Maybe Mr. Woods would like to join us for dinner here tonight?”
“Maybe. I can ask him, if I see him.”
Grams laughed. “Well, why wouldn’t you see him? Aren’t you two an item now?”
An item. I almost laughed. “No, Grams, we’re not. We’re just friends.”
“Friends!” she repeated, like the word was distasteful to her. “I don’t understand. I thought you and he …” She twirled one hand around as if it held a sparkler.
“Yes, well, I know it’s not easy for you to understand, but these days friends sometimes …” I twirled a sparkler. “And it’s just for fun. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Oh.” She looked troubled. “It’s just that you two seem to like each other so much.”
“We do, Grams. It’s not that.”
“Well, what is it then?” she asked.
“We don’t want the same things.” It was the truth, but saying it out loud took some of the wind out of my sails. Last night had been so magical.
“Such as?”
“Well … I want a family. He doesn’t.”
She flapped a hand. “Oh bother, of course he does. Even if he says he doesn’t.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Grams.”
“You can’t give up just because a fellow plays hard to get, Stella.”
“He’s not playing at anything. We talked very honestly about things last night, and … I understand why he is the way he is. You were right. He does have something eating at him from the inside. But he’s not broken. Wounded, maybe, but not broken.”
“Well, you know what they say about how to heal a wound …” Grams lifted her cup to her wrinkled lips.
I sighed. “Yes. I do. But he might not want to heal that wound, Grams. It’s … deeply rooted in him. In his sense of honor. He guards it, almost protectively.”
“Whatever for?”
I picked up my coffee and sipped, giving it some more thought. “I think maybe because he’s so conflicted about it. He feels shame, but also pride. He wants to be forgiven for things he’s done, but doesn’t think he should be. He questions himself. Is he a good person who did bad things? Or deep down, is he something else?”
Grams clucked her tongue. “I knew men like that. They came home after the war with such tortured souls. So heartbreaking.”
“It is,” I went on, feeling protective of him. I shouldn’t say anything more to Grams.
“But it’s not hopeless, Stella. He just needs someone who can make him feel loved unconditionally.”
I smiled ruefully, but a lump popped into my throat. “It’s not that easy, Grams. Ryan is who he is. And he doesn’t want love.” But I knew in my heart, I could love him like that. So easily. I was halfway there already.
“Nonsense. Everybody wants love.”
“Not him. He likes living alone. He’s not going to change for me, and I’d never ask him to. He’s entitled to the life he wants.”
“But Stella—”
I stood up. “Listen, Grams. I’m feeling a little tired, and I need to call Emme and let her know I’m planning to stay a couple more days. I will be glad to invite Ryan to dinner, but I have no idea if he’ll come. And even if he does,” I went on, loudly so she’d be sure to hear it, “it doesn’t mean there’s anything serious or even romantic between us.”
“All right, dear. Whatever you say.”
I left her in the kitchen and took my coffee with me upstairs. In my room, I set the cup on the dresser, shut the door and threw myself facedown on the bed. Why did I feel like crying all of a sudden? What was the matter with me?
Last night I’d been so sure I could remain emotionally detached, but this morning I was a mess. Had I made a mistake saying I’d stay? Was I offering up my heart knowing he’d smash it to pieces? Was I tying myself to the tracks of an oncoming train?