Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I always wondered why my grandmother never changed this table for a smaller one. After my dad’s death fifteen years ago, Denia stopped having the elaborate dinner parties she loved.
Most nights, she ate with my grandfather next to her until he passed from the same type of cancer my dad did. It was a cruel twist of fate that swallowed her joy.
That’s when she sold the apartment she lived in on the Upper East Side and bought this place. She said she needed a fresh start, but she brought everything from that apartment to this penthouse, including a heart full of grief.
“Maybe a few other times,” she admits with a sigh.
I take a sip of the sparkling water in my glass. Denia had a well-stocked wine fridge in the kitchen. I’m unsure if Sinclair completely overlooked it or if she decided to pass on alcohol for the night. Either way, I’m not complaining.
“What room should we start in?” she asks in a whispered tone. “Do you have a preference?”
“Any room but her bedroom.” I shake my head. “I can’t bring myself to go in there yet.”
“I understand,” she says. “We could start with her little library.”
It’s not that little, but it will be a good starting point for sorting through my grandmother’s possessions.
“Sure.” I push back from the table. “I’ll handle cleanup duty and meet you in there in fifteen.”
She glances down at where her dog has been sitting, patiently waiting for any wayward food scraps to fall on the floor. “I’ll take Duds out for a quick walk and then I’ll see you in the library.”
She stands. Just as I’m about to do the same, she turns to walk away. That sends my ass back down because fuck it, those jeans she’s wearing send a flood of memories through me.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m chuckling.
Sinclair glances over her shoulder at me. “What’s so funny?”
“You wore those same jeans the day I cracked my elbow open.” I hold up my arm to show her the faded scar.
Her gaze drops to her jeans. “I was wearing these jeans? How do you remember that?”
Because your ass looks just as spectacular today as it did then.
There’s no way in hell I can tell her that, so I shrug. “I have a photographic memory. You know that.”
She buys it because, at one time, it was true. I could conjure up an image of almost anything I’d seen in the past with little effort.
Those days may be gone, but when it comes to Sinclair, every single memory I have of her is etched into my soul forever.
A smile plays on her lips. “I do know that. I’ll be back in a few, Jameson.”
I’ll be waiting.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sinclair
“I want to read that one too.” I point at the book in Jameson’s hand.
He chuckles as he motions for me to take it from him. “This is the twenty-third book you’ve set aside. You can have them all, Sin.”
I glance up at the massive bookcase. There are at least two hundred books waiting for us to go through.
I bite the corner of my bottom lip. “Since Arietta moved out, I do have an empty guestroom. It wouldn’t take much to transform it into a library.”
“It’ll take even less if we have the bookcase moved to your place.” He looks toward it. “Where do you live?”
My gaze drops to my crossed legs. We’re sitting next to each other on a colorful rug on the hardwood floor. I was the first to drop down when we started going through the books. Jameson joined me a few minutes later.
“I live in Tribeca,” I say, not wanting to rattle off my home address to him.
It’s not that I think he’ll show up after we move out of here, but my address feels personal – too personal – to be handing out to him.
“Nice.” He nods.
“The apartment belongs to Maren. She’s my sister-in-law,” I explain, even though he didn’t ask for any details. “I get a great deal on rent.”
“You can’t beat that in this city.”
I point toward a small ceramic vase with a pink paper flower sticking out of it. “What should we do with that?”
His gaze follows the direction of my finger. “I think Holden made that when he was a kid, so let’s trash it.”
“What?” I push up to my knees. “We can’t trash it. What if Holden wants it? It might be something he’ll treasure.”
Jameson lets out a laugh. “Holden treasures money, Sinclair. Nothing else.”
I don’t crack a smile. Instead, I narrow my eyes. “You don’t know that.”
His laughter stops abruptly. “I do know that.”
“Holden isn’t the same person he was when you left.”
“How would you know that?” He bolts to his feet. “Have you been hanging out with my brother the same way you were hanging out with Denia?”