Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“No, I just went to the car to get something.”
“I thought maybe… well, that lady at your table seemed kind of… friendly. I thought you…” I stop, mortified that I let this private thought out and that he knows I was so aware of him all night. I can’t lift my eyes from my bare toes against the dark parquet flooring we laid in the pavilion.
“I don’t know her. I didn’t come for her.” One long finger lifts my chin, and the sincerity in his eyes reaches through my chest and squeezes my heart. “I came for you, Sol.”
“Oh. Okay.” It’s all I can manage.
He pulls something from the pocket of his slacks and holds it out to me. It’s an acrylic bookmark, clear with purple and white pressed flowers inside. “This is for you.”
“Judah.” I look up from the bookmark, so small and fragile in his wide palm, to his face. “It’s beautiful.”
“I saw you talking about starting a book club and thought…” A smile that mocks himself comes and goes, briefly softening the stern lines of his face. “It’s kind of silly now that—”
“It’s not. It’s one of the sweetest things anyone’s done for me in a long time.”
His teeth flash, white and straight against the darkness of his skin. “One of the artisans had a lot of them at her tent, but I saw this one and I thought you might like it now that you’re reading more.”
“I want to read more. We haven’t even chosen our first book yet.” I bite into a smile and tease him through my lashes. “And have you been stalking my socials?”
“I can’t seem to stop.”
Our smiles fade together as his words drift down between us, soft and so revealing.
“And I keep asking myself: Why can’t I stop watching this woman restock her refrigerator?” He shakes his head with a smile that’s not quite comfortable. “Or wash her sheets? Or organize the cabinet under her sink?”
A laugh bolts out of me at the unexpected comment. “That’s ASMR.”
“What the hell is ASMR?”
“Autonomous sensory meridian response. It’s like feeling soothed or stimulated even by certain sounds, background noise, whispering, pages being turned. All kinds of things, but it makes you feel good when you watch it.”
“It’s not that.” He takes my hand and folds my fingers around the bookmark but doesn’t let go. “It’s you. I like watching you.”
I’m trapped in this moment—the clean, intoxicating scent of him, the heat of his body this close, the intensity of his eyes caressing my face, my neck and shoulders bared by my dress—but instead of fighting my way out, I long to burrow in for a few stolen seconds.
“I saw your anniversary dinner,” he says softly. “When you went to Spiros by yourself.”
“You did?” I ask, barely breathing.
“I was rooting for the black dress,” he says, his eyes never leaving my face. “But you looked so good in the red.”
“Th-thank you. It turned out to be a great night.”
“You have a way of doing that, taking shitty things and making them turn out great.”
I don’t know what to say. I blink at him, astounded by his unexpected sweetness. He’s always so serious and brusque. That I bring this out of him is humbling.
“It sounds like you’re on a self-partnering journey right now,” he says. “No dating, right?”
“Right.” I lick my lips and nod numbly. “None.”
“I think that’s great, especially so soon after your divorce.” He squeezes my hand, which he’s still holding. “And I don’t want to distract from what you’re learning about yourself.”
It’s what he should say. It’s what I want him to say, what I need him to say, but Judah is something rare. I think we could be spectacular together. I’m not ready, though. It’s like feeling him with just the tips of my fingers and not being sure I’ll be able to hold on.
“I guess I wanted to let you know that when you are ready to spend time with someone else,” he says, “I’d like to be someone.”
“You are very much already someone, Judah,” I whisper, and press the bookmark to my lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Hey, Mom.” Inez pulls up short, stopping at the pavilion entrance, her sharp gaze traveling from me to Judah. “I’m, uh, finished.”
“That’s great, honey.” I take a subtle step back, putting a bit more distance between Judah and me. I offer him a polite smile, hoping he takes the hint. “Thanks for coming tonight. Hope you enjoyed the meal.”
I reach into the basket on the table holding the small bags of potpourri.
“Just a little something I made for all the guests,” I tell him, keeping my tone neutral as I hand one to him.
“Thank you.” He presses the bag to his nose for a deep inhalation. “Smells good.”
“Take care.” I don’t know when I’ll see him again, and I wish I could say more, but under Inez’s watchful gaze, this will have to do.