Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
His car was parked outside, the same one he’d driven us to the wedding in. It looked positively strange parked outside such a quaint old home. Those two days in Cork felt like eons ago. A wall had been erected between us, one Jonathan had put in place.
Walking up to the door, I knocked twice, but no one answered. My stomach plummeted, imagining he was inside ignoring me until I left. Knocking again, I waited and was about to call his phone when footsteps sounded behind me.
“Ada?”
Jonathan stood on the path behind me. He held a carrier bag with groceries and wore a hoodie and jeans. Yes, a hoodie and jeans. I blinked, fearing I’d hallucinated. I’d never seen him dressed so casually, but it bizarrely suited him. Then again, when you were as handsome as Jonathan, most things tended to look good on you. His hair wasn’t styled, and without his usual product, it was even blonder than normal. I fought the urge to walk up and run my hands through it. My heart pounded just being in his presence. I loved him so much, but I also hated him for pushing me away. I hated him for making me love him.
“Hey, can we talk?”
“Of course,” he said, stepping by me as he pulled his keys out to unlock the door. “I was about to make dinner. Are you hungry?”
“No, thank you.”
He froze at my response, taking me in anew. His eyes travelled over me, his expression questioning. I wasn’t there to eat. I’d come to get what I needed to say off my chest, and then I was leaving.
Jonathan’s gaze turned sad as he blew out a breath. “All right, well, come on in.”
I followed him into the house. It had been a few months since I’d been there, but it was still the same. I adored the place so much, and before I’d moved out, I would’ve given anything to have the money to purchase it from Jonathan. But I felt differently now. I was by no means over my grief, but I was past the worst of it, and surprisingly, I didn’t feel so tethered to Leonora’s house any longer.
I’d made new memories, new attachments, mainly to Jonathan and the apartment I was living in. I’d never imagined a world where I might become attached to my new life, not with how uncomfortable I’d been with the luxury apartment in the beginning. But I liked living there, liked being able to go across the hall to Jonathan’s and spend the night with him, liked having him check in on me in the evenings.
My heart broke as I imagined our little routine with one another coming to an end.
Jonathan went into the kitchen and began unpacking his groceries onto the counter. I took a seat by the table, my eyes tracing the strong lines of his broad back, until I noticed what he’d purchased. The ingredients for Leonora’s spaghetti. He was cooking it for himself. Did that mean it didn’t affect him anymore to eat it? Was that progress?
Once he had his groceries unpacked and put away, he finally turned to face me. He just stared at me for a long time, so long I could hardly breathe, his gaze tipping over my cheeks and lips before he sighed. “It’s really good to see your face.”
I folded my hands in my lap, feeling a tenderness at the statement but also an antagonism. It was the latter that won out. “That’s surprising,” I muttered flatly under my breath.
I knew he heard when his expression saddened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he asked, “Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Juice?”
He seemed uncharacteristically nervous as he tucked his hands into the large pocket at the front of his black hoodie. “No, I don’t need anything to drink,” I replied, and his expression fell for an instant before he masked it. I cleared my throat. “Can I ask why you’ve been staying here?”
His expression clouded as he stared down at the countertop. “I’m not entirely sure I have a clear answer to that, Ada. When we got back from Cork, I just had this intense need to be here.”
I studied him, and his eyes flicked up, latching onto mine. God, I cared about him so much. This was one of the most difficult conversations I’d ever had. “And is it helping? Being here, I mean?”
“I think so, yes.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I, um—” He opened a drawer beneath the counter, pulling out a small, leather-bound notebook that looked familiar. “I found Mam’s diary.” He picked it up and flicked through the pages. “It has about two years of her appointments and social engagements. Reading through it feels like living life through her eyes a little bit.” He let out a sad laugh. “Who would have thought I could feel a connection with Mam beyond the grave through something as mundane as her dentist appointments and Bridge Club meet ups?”