Reading books romantic stories you will plunge into the world of feelings and love. Most of the time the story ends happily. Very interesting and informative to read books historical romance novels to feel the atmosphere of that time.Finding London by Ellie Wade (best pdf ebook reader .txt) đź“–
- Author: Ellie Wade
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I sigh. “Maybe you’re right. That was pretty Oprah-worthy though.”
Cooper nods. “Yeah, that advice was definitely on point. I’m just that good. Who’s the love expert now?” He smirks, lifting his shoulders.
“Whatever.” I laugh. “Hey, guess who I’ve been dreaming about a lot lately?”
“Who?”
“Sarah.”
Cooper and Maggie are the only people who know about Sarah.
“No shit?”
“I know. I try not to think about her, for the most part. Then, just this week, I’ve been, like, dreaming of her every night. It’s fucked up.”
The memory of Sarah invades my mind at some point every day. As much as I try not to think about her, it’s impossible. I’m ashamed to admit that I intentionally push her to the side even though her memory doesn’t deserve it, but it’s still so painful to remember.
Cooper shrugs. “It makes sense. I mean, she was the last person you loved—well, besides me.” He waggles his eyebrows.
I simply roll my eyes.
He continues, “So then, this London chick comes around, and you like her, which opens up all the touchy-feely emotional shit in your brain. So, of course, it’s going to make memories of Sarah surface.”
“I suppose that makes sense. You don’t think it’s my mind warning me that this whole thing with London isn’t a good thing? That something horrible will happen?”
“Come on, Berkeley,” Cooper huffs. “Do you regret the time you had with Sarah?”
“Of course not.”
“So, I think it means the opposite. If anything, it’s telling you that love is worth it even if you lose it. I know you think you’re cursed or some shit, but that’s ridiculous. People die every day. It’s just shitty luck that many of the people you’ve loved died. But don’t think for a second that London’s just going to kick the bucket because you date her. That’s not the way life works. Plus, would you rather have never known your parents or Sarah? If you’d had a choice at the beginning to know them even though they were going to leave you or to never have known them at all, what would you have chosen?”
“Of course I’d have wanted to know them.”
“Exactly my point! Dude, come on!” Cooper runs his fingers through his hair in frustration.
I can’t help but laugh. “Okay”—I chuckle—“I get your point.”
He’s right. I’m being a total idiot.
“Thank you!” He groans. “You good?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Thank God.” He shakes his head with a grin. “Now, before I had to go all Oprah on your ass, I originally came in here to see if you wanted us to order you some Chinese. Maggie and I are going to stuff our faces and have a Mission: Impossible marathon.”
“Nah, thanks though. I’m going to go get London back.”
“Aw, that’s my boy.” He smirks.
“Shut up already.”
“All right, all right.” He raises his hands in mock surrender. “But, seriously, good luck, man.”
“Thanks, Coops.” I pin him with a stare. I don’t say the words on the tip of my tongue because, let’s face it, this brief conversation has been enough sentimental shit for one day.
But that’s the thing with Cooper. I don’t have to say the words for him to understand. He’s always had this crazy ability to get me, oftentimes better than I get myself. He knows how much he means to me.
“Anytime, brother.” He nods before stepping back and closing my bedroom door behind him.
I get what Cooper said. It all makes sense, and I know he’s right. Deep down, I know that I didn’t have anything to do with my parents’ or Sarah’s deaths. I understand, too, that all relationships are a gamble. But there’s still that part, far within, that whispers that I’m being selfish. I have a real fear that, by dating London when I’m not a whole person, I will hurt her.
She’s this bright light, the first one since Sarah, that’s been able to penetrate my darkness. But, unlike Sarah—whom I loved like family—the feelings I have stirring within me for London are so much more. They are raw and hot, urgent and needy. They consume me with immense want. This week and every other day since she first washed my truck, I’ve tried everything not to think about her, but I’ve found it impossible.
London, for me, is unforgettable. Her light is so vivid that it refuses to be dimmed. I’m just terrified that somehow, though I won’t mean to, not only will I dim her brightness, but I’ll also extinguish it altogether.
So, yeah, maybe picking London is the selfish thing to do, but I’m going to take that chance anyway. Apparently, I’m a selfish prick.
London
“I’m fully aware that you have the potential to obliterate my heart into a million pieces, and I’m okay with that.”
—London Wright
Exactly a week ago, I had an amazing date with Loïc, at which he all but confessed his love—if not love, then deep like—for me. We proceeded to watch a magnificent sunset and had an incredibly steamy kiss. Of course, that was followed by his internal freak-out and subsequent cutting off of the date and dropping me off at home early where I was left hurt, confused, and sad.
Ah, just a typical night out for me. No, not really.
If I’ve had an amazing time with a guy I like, it’s always ended way better than that.
What is my fascination with LoĂŻc? I truly, for the life of me, cannot begin to understand it. Pre-LoĂŻc London would never have put up with this teeter-totter of craziness.
But therein lies the problem. Loïc isn’t like any guy I’ve ever dated. He’s different. Despite his plethora of issues, I’m drawn to him, almost instinctually. My attraction to him and desire to be with him aren’t things I can control. I simply know we’re meant to be. We have to be. It’s the only logical conclusion to my obsession.
Here I stand, on the corner of Independence and Desire. The problem is that Desire is littered with lots of trash that I call desperation while Independence is covered in regret. So, the million-dollar question is, is it better to risk falling to desperation to cure this immense ache of desire, or should I hold my head high on my lonely walk to independence?
For me, at least with LoĂŻc, there is no question.
So, now, I need to come up with a plan to get him back.
Yeah, that’s a problem.
I sigh before plopping onto my bed, TV remote control in hand.
I’ve tried with Loïc. I’ve pulled out all of my charms. None of it worked on him because his mind was already closed off. I need to do something more. I just haven’t figured out what.
Granted, bingeing on Netflix for a week straight didn’t allow for much time to plan for my Loïc domination.
Paige is out with a guy, so I planned on using tonight to craft my ingenious plan, but I can’t find the motivation. Perhaps, after a few episodes of a new guilty-pleasure show, an idea will come to me.
The doorbell rings, and I freeze. My mouth goes dry, and I swallow. I slowly sit up, throwing my legs over the side of my bed. My chest feels light, and I focus on my breathing.
It might not even be him. Calm down.
It has to be him, right?
Who else would it be?
I step into the hallway and hesitantly make my way toward the front door. The bell rings again, startling me, and I jump. At this point, I notice my wounded-heart ensemble—a thin tank top, short yoga shorts, no makeup, and my long hair thrown on top of my head in a messy bun. It could be worse. I actually showered today, so at least I don’t stink.
Oh, well. I don’t have time to glam it up at this point. It is what it is. Take me or leave me.
Wait, I didn’t mean it. Please don’t leave me.
My sweaty palm grasps the door handle, and I pull it open. My knees go weak, and I know that’s cliché, but gorgeous doesn’t begin to describe the man before me.
Oh, what he does to me…
He’s here, and he’s smiling. It’s a cautious grin, but it’s something. In his hands, he’s holding a huge basket with an adorable pink ribbon wrapped around it. Inside the basket, among purple paper confetti, is bag upon bag of gummy candy. My eyes do a quick scan, and I see a variety of gummy goodness from worms to sour to original bears. I can’t contain the wide smile that comes to my face.
“What’s this?” I motion toward the basket.
“A peace offering. I was hoping to soften you up with a little sugar, so I could plead my case.” The rich timbre of his voice never fails to still my heart.
“Your case?” I manage to keep my voice steady. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear the rapid beating of my heart.
“Yeah, I was hoping I could take you out and kind of explain some stuff, maybe talk you into giving me…us another chance.” He releases one of his hands from the basket and rubs the back of his neck. His beautiful blues dart from my lips to my eyes before peering toward the ground.
“I don’t want to go out,” I say.
Loïc’s eyes pierce mine. A deep sadness resides behind them, and it makes my chest ache.
“But we can hang out here,” I offer.
His expression is one of confusion. I know this groveling-at-my-door scenario that’s going on is new and probably difficult for him.
I give him a comforting smile. “Come inside. We have the whole place to ourselves. You can plead your case here. You can even wait until I’m in a major sugar coma to do so, if you want,” I say with a quirked eyebrow.
A slow smile forms on his lips, lighting up his eyes. I step back, and he enters. I close the door behind him, and he places the basket on the table in the foyer. He turns toward me, and before I know it, he pulls me into his chest, engulfing me in a hug.
My arms wrap around him, tightly hugging him. The tension rolls off my body, and I want to cry from the mere relief of having him this close to me.
He bends his head toward mine, nuzzling his face into my hair. “God, I’ve missed you,” he groans, his voice so husky and needy.
His confession causes a torrent of goose bumps to explode over my body.
We stand this way, wrapped in each other’s arms, for a long time. I think we’re both afraid to let go. I haven’t been this content in a week, and I’m terrified for it to end. I’m scared to death that something will trigger him to leave me again.
Eventually, he leans his head back, so our eyes meet. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Right,” I say sarcastically.
“No, you are, London. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
His
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