Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
I missed him.
I missed the way he only spoke a few words, yet said so much.
I missed the way he was fiercely protective of the people he cared about, even if he pretended they got on his nerves.
I missed the way he couldn’t help but be a gentleman, even though it made him grumpy. Like when I’d hit his mailbox and realized I was locked out of my house the night I arrived, yet he still carried in my luggage.
I missed the way he wasn’t a gentleman in bed.
I walked in a fog, somehow maneuvering through throngs of people on the sidewalk and not crashing into any of them. When I finally came upon my building, I realized I didn’t remember half the trip home. In the elevator, people got on and off. Faces were familiar, and some had probably lived here as long as I did, yet I didn’t know any of their names.
How many people did I get to know in Laurel Lake? Opal, Frannie, Bernadette, Bettina, Rita, Porter, Hope, Tommy, Rachael, Sam, Reuben... after only two months I bet I could rattle off two-dozen names without having to think long.
I exited the elevator on the thirty-first floor with a feeling of dread. My apartment had become a daily reminder of how empty my life was. But halfway down the hall, movement up ahead snapped me out of my daze. My heart, which had been sitting in my chest like a deflated football, suddenly filled and started beating wildly—beating like it was making up for lost time.
I froze twenty feet from my door. “Fox?”
He’d been sitting with his knees bent next to my door, but now he climbed to his feet. When our eyes met, I had to focus on remembering to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Fox looked tired and stressed, his clothes were crumpled, eyes rimmed with dark circles like he hadn’t slept so well lately. But even with all that, he was breathtakingly handsome.
“Why are you here? And how did you even get up here?”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “Doorman recognized me from my playing days. I told him I was visiting a friend and wanted to surprise her. He let me come up after taking some pics and signing an autograph.”
“But why are you here? In New York?”
He nodded toward my door. “Do you think we can go inside and talk? I really need to use the bathroom. I drank too much water on the drive up, but I was afraid if I left, the night doorman wouldn’t let me back in and I’d miss you.”
“The night doorman? What time did you get here?”
He shrugged. “Maybe three hours ago?”
“You’ve been sitting here for three hours?”
He moved back and forth from one foot to the other. “And now that I stood up, I really gotta go.” He motioned to the door again. “Would you mind?”
“Oh. Sure.” I took my keys from my purse and unlocked the door. “Down the hall, first door on the left.”
Fox disappeared into the bathroom, which gave me a few moments to collect myself. I took a deep breath and shut the door, then focused on slowing the blood pumping through my ears. Though when he walked back out, it felt like my body hit the gas on all its inner workings. My heart and mind raced, blood hurtled through my veins, and questions swirled around like a tornado taking form.
I cleared my throat. “Feel better?”
He smiled. “A lot. Thanks.”
“Well, that makes one of us. I need a glass of wine before I’ll feel better. Would you like one?”
“Sure.”
I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a very full glass. Unfortunately, it only left enough for a regular pour in the second glass. I’d normally give a guest the better offering, but I needed it more than he did. He’d known he was coming.
I slid the half-full one to the other side of the counter. “Sorry. You’re getting the crappy pour.”
“I’m just grateful you didn’t break the empty bottle over my head for showing up like this.”
I brought the wine to my lips. “You only just got here. I haven’t ruled it out yet.”
After a healthy swallow, I maneuvered around the counter and into the living room. “Why don’t we sit in here?”
My apartment was a decent size by New York standards, but it suddenly felt really small with Fox in it. I took a seat in a chair I rarely used, a protective distance from the other side of the coffee table, where Fox would be forced to sit on the couch.
Once he was settled, he blew out an audible, shaky breath. “I’m really sorry for showing up like this without calling. I was afraid if I called, you might tell me not to come.”
My head would’ve wanted to, but my heart would’ve overruled it. “What are you doing here, Fox?”