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)
She scooted closer to take a look, her perfume whispering across my senses. “Oh, his style looks familiar,” she said, her brow scrunching as she stared at the picture I had up. “Ah! Now I remember. Don’t you have one of his paintings hanging in the lobby at your firm?”
I smiled at her. “That’s right. I bought that one a couple months ago. It’s my favourite of his.”
“I love it, too. It’s very evocative. It reminds me of my dad.”
I frowned. “How? It’s a landscape.”
“Well, Dad loved reading classic novels. Wuthering Heights was a favourite of his, and the landscape reminds me of the Yorkshire Moors.”
I studied her, the way her eyes lit up as she spoke of the painting, and was struck with the sudden urge to offer it to her. What was wrong with me? This woman had such a hold on me that I wanted to give her everything she might possibly enjoy. Or maybe I just understood her grief, the bittersweet sadness when you came across something that reminded you of the person you lost.
“Now that you mention it, I do see the resemblance,” I replied and continued to click through the pictures, allowing Ada to admire them alongside me while resisting the need to lean closer and inhale her scent.
On the Wednesday of the second week after our heart to heart in my apartment, I received a text from her.
Ada: I forgot to mention it this morning, but could you let Ben know he doesn’t need to pick me up this evening? I’m going out.
Her message piqued my interest.
Jonathan: Going out where?
Ada: Just the pub quiz again with a couple coworkers. We go every fortnight.
Jonathan: Sounds like fun.
Ada: Don’t tease. I know a pub quiz is the last thing you’d find fun.
Jonathan: And how would you know? I actually love quizzes. I can be very competitive, and I have an extensive pool of general knowledge.
What the hell was I doing? Was I angling for a bloody invite? Yes, it appeared I was. I’d become so desperate for her, my stifled desire so stark, that I’d suffer competing in a lowly pub quiz if it meant spending more time with her.
Ada: Well, just don’t forget to let Ben know. I don’t want him driving all the way out here unnecessarily.
Jonathan: Which pub is the quiz being held in?
Ada: Why?...
Jonathan: Like I said, I LOVE quizzes. I might stop by.
Ada: Don’t. Everyone at Pinebrook is already way too curious about you. They’ll lose their minds if you show up for quiz night.
Jonathan: It’s settled, then. I’m coming.
Ada: Jonathan!
Jonathan: See you tonight. Don’t forget to text me the address. X.
16.
Ada
Staring at my phone, my heart bounced around inside my chest. What the hell had just happened? A casual text informing Jonathan I wouldn’t need Ben to pick me up after work had turned into him inviting himself along to quiz night.
Things had been a little tense between us the last week and a half. Often on our car journeys, I’d find Jonathan staring at me intently as though he were trying to solve some exasperating, complex mystery. It was like he wanted to carefully peel back all the layers I had in place to find some answer I didn’t even know the question to. I couldn’t tell if he was merely exasperated with the amount of time it was taking to have my car fixed, or if he was obsessing over the conversation we’d had. The one where we’d agreed that any kind of relationship outside of casual friendship between us was unwise.
It was a tough conversation to have, but a necessary one. My sister was right. I couldn’t afford to jeopardize my living situation, but more than that, we were both still grieving. Starting anything on such unsteady ground was a recipe for heartache. It didn’t help that no matter how much I reminded myself of this, a part of me still wanted him badly.
I was constantly aware of the tension between us, his cologne always dancing faintly past my nose, wrapping me up in his potent presence in the enclosed space. I was also obsessed with studying him, and I’d become fond of his little idiosyncrasies, like how he’d stroke his chin when he was staring at his laptop screen because it helped him think. Or how a little line would mark the space between his eyebrows on the mornings he was in a bad mood or one of his clients was being difficult. What was most surprising was how fond I’d become of his grumpiness, how I’d come to find it amusing and also attractive. Perhaps I had a grouchy old man kink. I often found myself clenching my thighs when he was focused on work, his expression serious or perturbed over an issue at the office. On those occasions, I had to stare out the window and resist the urge to grab him by his tie and pull him across the car seat, plaster my lips to his.