Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“I won’t deny that those are fine features of yours, but I also told you the thing I like most about you. Your need for control.”
She takes a sip of water and sets her glass down harshly. “So I’m a game. If I give you control, you win. Is that it?”
How wrong she is. I don’t play games. I’ve made that clear to her. But this isn’t a conversation to have in a restaurant. I can see how she might perceive some of what’s between us as a game. Soon, though, she’ll see it’s something much more exciting than any game.
“If you give me control,” I say, “we both win.”
“And how long do you expect this arrangement to last?” she asks. “Until you get tired of me?”
This time, I can’t hold back my chuckle. “As long as you want it to.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Why is that?”
She huffs softly. “Because you can have anyone. You’ll get tired of me long before I get tired of you.”
“Don’t be so sure of that.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’ll see.”
The waiter brings our meals, and she stares at the coq au vin on her plate.
A minute passes. Then another.
I take a bite of my sole and swallow. “Nothing to say? That’s not like you.” I know how to break the ice. I rise and lay my napkin across the back of my chair. I remove my phone from my pocket, crouch down next to her, and snap a selfie of us. “What the hell? Let’s get them talking.”
“You’re Instagramming?”
“Kay will have the whole city talking about us within a day anyway, so why not? You’re not embarrassed to be seen with me, are you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then there’s no problem that I can see.” I edit the photo slightly to adjust the lighting and then post it.
Her phone dings in her purse.
“Tagged you,” I say.
She pulls out her phone.
“You should make your profile public,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because my followers will want to know you.”
“I’m a private person, Braden.”
“Not anymore.”
I hope she understands the truth of those words. If she wants to “date” me, she’s going to be in the public eye. Kay Brown accosting her at her workplace is clear evidence of the situation.
She lifts her eyebrows. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
I laugh. I really, really laugh. The things she says… “You did, though. You wanted to date, Skye. This is what dating me is like.” I thrust my phone back in my pocket. “In fact, I’m on my way to do some charity work. Why don’t you join me?”
“You do charity work?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“No.”
Right. Her eyebrows nearly shooting off her forehead gives her away. But why would this surprise her?
“I give a lot of money to charity,” I say, “but there’s no substitute for diving in and getting your hands dirty.”
She looks down at her work clothes. “I’m not really dressed to get my hands dirty.”
“Just an expression, Skye. Though I do help with a community garden in my old neighborhood, that’s not what I’m doing today.”
“Yeah? What are you doing today?”
“You mean ‘what are we doing today?’”
She smiles. “Okay, what are we doing today?”
“Wait and see.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I remain mum about the plans while we finish our lunch. Once we leave the restaurant, Christopher picks us up and drives us to a food pantry in South Boston.
I know the place well.
My mother brought Ben and me to this place when I was a little boy, but I don’t advertise that fact.
“I come here once a week for an hour and hand out food,” I tell Skye. “Let’s go.”
We exit the car and walk past the line of people waiting and into the building.
Several people rush to greet me.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Black,” Denny, a young man who volunteers often, says.
I wave and give him a pat on the back.
“Braden!” Cheryl, who runs the place, grabs my hand. “I see you’ve brought a friend.”
“Cheryl, this is Skye.”
Cheryl holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Skye.”
“Cheryl’s an old friend,” I say. “We used to be neighbors.”
“When he was just a little guy,” Cheryl says. “We’re all so proud of his success.”
Skye’s good. She hides her shock well from Cheryl, but I can still see it. I’m connected to this woman in a way that’s new to me, hypersensitive to her every reaction.
This time, it’s not as frightening as it was when I first made the realization. It’s more enlightening. Makes my chest tighten.
“You all had a hand in it,” I say to Cheryl.
“He’s an amazing person,” she says to Skye. “Never forgets his roots. His donations keep us in business. We’re able to help more people than ever these days.”
Skye smiles.
She’s happy about this side of me, and that makes me happy. I’ve never brought a woman to the food pantry. Never had the desire to.