Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
I turned left and started down the street toward the busier section, where there would be more food options. However, I could take the side road up ahead and make a little detour. If the rare bookstore two streets over was still open, I could stop inside and inquire about the difficulty to find the Pride and Prejudice first-edition set and possibly show them the photos I’d taken of them to get their opinion. My need to know who had sent the books centered around my small strands of hope that Ransom wasn’t truly gone from my life. That he felt something. Maybe he had shut me out because of that? Because he was scared of feeling something more than friendship?
I knew the more I spent dwelling on that and clinging to it, the harder reality was going to hit me when the weeks continued to pass with no word from him.
There was also the fact that when I’d had yet another bottle of wine last week while wallowing in my heartache, I had called him. Foolish, but I did it. And the number had been disconnected. That should be a big, bright neon sign right there, telling me that Ransom was gone. He was closing all connection with me.
He had not sent me gifts that were in my stories. Especially not gifts that could buy someone a decent-sized home in Madison. Here, it would be a nice downpayment. And the colorful, expensive wrapping paper that they’d been in wasn’t very Ransom-like either.
I paused at the street I was going to cross and glanced down to my right. It was only eight. The bookstore might possibly still be open. It was three days to Christmas, and people were out, shopping for those last-minute gifts. There was a good chance it would be. I’d google it to check and see, but I couldn’t remember the name of it. I had passed it dozens of times, but the rare books in the windows always caught my eyes. The street was quieter, but it wasn’t a long one. I was also a fast walker. If I got nervous, I’d run.
Slipping my hand into my purse to get out my small can of pepper spray, I clenched it tightly and headed toward the bookstore. The more I thought about who had sent the books, the more I believed it was Arden. He would assume I’d know it was him and not think he had to put a card with it. That made the most sense.
It also was such a devastating thing to admit that it made my chest tighten and my eyes water. I didn’t want it to be Arden. I didn’t want it to be Thurston—although I was ninety-five percent sure it was not. I wanted it to be Ransom.
I missed him. It wasn’t getting easier as the days passed. The pain was getting more intense. Wasn’t time supposed to heal? I needed it to freaking hurry the hell up.
A door opened a few feet ahead of me, and a man stepped out, wearing a pair of jeans and a black hoodie. Two cars had driven by since I’d started down this street, but other than a couple on the other side of the road, walking in the opposite direction, I hadn’t passed anyone else. The lack of stores made this street empty compared to the one I’d been on before.
The man paused and turned to look at me. The turn-and-flee reaction was typical for someone who watched crime television the way I did. If there was more lighting, it wouldn’t feel as if I were walking into danger. This was mostly residential. People were in their apartments, so they’d see if something went on down here …
But this was New York City. Did people even pay attention to what was happening on the streets? Murders were committed on these streets all the time.
STOP, NOA! It is just a man wearing a black hoodie with … possibly a tattoo on his face. Or is that a birthmark? Does it matter? No. Unless I need to ID him later. That would make it easier. But to ID him would mean I’d survived whatever he did to me.
Good Lord, listen to my thoughts. He isn’t going to do anything to me.
I kept walking, although my grip on the pepper spray was tighter, and my finger moved to the trigger. I forced a tight smile and looked away from him, although he was still watching me and kept walking at the same pace. It was likely he could run faster than me.
Don’t tempt the bear. Just walk casually.
“Pretty lady,” he called out just as I reached where he stood. “I have purses. Designer.”
I just bet he did. Join thousands of others on these streets. “No thank you,” I replied and kept going.