Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Things sounded too good to be true again. Was it truly possible to have the cake and eat it too?
“Where do I sign?” I smiled.
He smiled back, and then he leaned in and kissed me chastely, too chastely, before he stood up again. “I’m gonna treat my boy to a nice breakfast on the way back to town, and I’ll talk to him about everything. Then I’ll see you for lunch at…” He checked his watch, pensive. “Around one? I’ll let you know an hour beforehand because I’m not entirely sure where I’ll be.”
“Yes, Sir.” I rose from the bed too and glanced around me. My overnight bag—ah, there. I picked it up from its spot next to the nightstand. My plan was to drive straight to the office, shower, then nap on my couch.
“One more thing,” he said. “I’ll be busy tomorrow afternoon. If you and Tate met up for lunch or something, I wouldn’t mind that. I want you two to work things out as soon as possible.”
I was much more flexible on weekends. Other than my mandatory pancake breakfast with Lily and her bedtime routine, we had nothing planned yet.
“I’ll ask him,” I promised. “Despite…everything, his friendship means very much to me. I want to set things right.”
“Glad to hear it.” He clapped me on my shoulder, then dug out a duffel bag from under the bed.
It was personalized, I noticed. “Tate’s Master” was embroidered in the leather. Maybe it’d been a gift from Tate at some point. Kingsley gathered their things in the bag and zipped it, and I watched in silence.
“That’s a lovely weekend bag.”
He smiled and brushed some invisible lint off it. “Tate gave it to me for our two-year anniversary.”
Two years. My marriage had lasted far longer than their six years together, but I didn’t have a single item that whispered about romantic occasions and celebrations. Kingsley and Tate had so much history. So many shared memories and trinkets. Tate had told me about their quirky hobby of buying rugs together. In a time when they hadn’t been able to afford a new floor, they’d started patching it with memories. I’d seen Tate wear a leather cuff too, monogrammed to showcase belonging and ownership. Tate had a favorite hoodie of Kingsley’s. A million little strings that tied them together. Their love story hadn’t just started. They were right in the middle of it.
Before we left the room, Kingsley tore a piece of paper from the notepad on the nightstand, and he hung a door hanger on the handle as we walked out. “LMS Request,” it read.
“What’s LMS?” I asked.
“Little Maid Service,” he replied. “It’s Ivy and Gretchen’s initiative. We try not to outsource our dirty work when we can do it ourselves, so most active members have a responsibility or two around the house. You can’t do everything, but you can do something—be it helping to clean the guest rooms, do inventory, or run maintenance.”
A tight-knit community, indeed. The prospect of becoming a part of what they’d created out here was equal parts daunting and appealing. My loneliness ached for me to belong somewhere.
“What’s your responsibility?” I wondered.
“The maintenance part,” he chuckled. We reached the stairs, and he tapped the wheelchair lift. “When we need things installed or fixed, a handful of us take the call. Colt, Reese, and I are the resident handymen. Greer’s our supply guy. Lucian and Lucas are in charge of scheduling. Everyone pitches in.”
Everyone belonged.
I had so much overthinking to do. No matter how right Noa probably was, I couldn’t put my thoughts on silent and live in the moment. I needed to understand, I needed a plan, I needed boundaries to secure my freedom.
I didn’t say anything for a moment. Kingsley was writing something on the note while we walked down the stairs.
Tate had mentioned that in his heartbreak days, too. The way they would leave little love notes for each other. Was Kingsley writing one of those now?
“For the record,” he said absentmindedly. “Don’t feel pressured to figure everything out right away. You said your head’s spinning, and I get it. But let it spin. You’re gonna change your mind countless times.”
I side-eyed him. “And if I need to talk?”
He glanced up from his note and smiled. “You have our numbers.”
I appreciated that immensely. We reached the second floor and aimed for the last set of stairs, and Kingsley pocketed his pen.
“You’ll fit right in here,” he said confidently.
I lacked that confidence. “Funny—I was thinking the opposite earlier. How can I fit in when I wish to exist on the fringes of other peoples’ lives? I want to be a secondary character.” To build on Noa’s use of starring in my own love story… “My own story only has room for my daughter and me at the moment, and it’s how I prefer it. At the same time…” Oh, this wasn’t good. Could I be open about my loneliness?