When I'm Gone (Rosemary Beach #11)(16)

Before ten the next morning, Astor Munroe called me and said he was very interested in helping Reese. He even sounded excited and intrigued by her situation. His price wasn’t cheap, but he explained that he was fitting her into a very tight schedule. He asked me questions that I didn’t know the answers to. She had shared very little of her past with me. I gave him her contact information and told him I would be going to talk to her today. I hoped she would call the professor on her own after I left, but if he didn’t hear from her in two days’ time, he assured me, he would give her a call.

Reese was home when I called her to ask if I could stop by to talk. Now here I was, back at her apartment door, hoping she would take this chance and use it. I couldn’t do any more than this. Even if I wanted to stay and hold her hand, that wasn’t possible. I had horses and a ranch to get back home to.

Reese opened the door on the first knock and smiled shyly at me before stepping back to let me in. Her hair was down today. Long, dark, silky layers hung halfway down her back in soft waves. It had curl. Damn, that was better than I’d imagined. I had to clear my throat to calm my instant lust.

“I like your hair down,” I blurted out, before I could stop myself.

Reese’s cheeks turned pink, and a pleased smile touched her lips. Someone had to have told her that before. “Thank you,” she replied softly.

I stepped inside and tore my gaze off her long legs, on complete display in those shorts. Even the brightly striped socks that came halfway up her calves didn’t detract from those legs of hers.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Her voice wavered like she was nervous.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” I replied, knowing that I didn’t have time to drink anything. I needed to give her the details and get to the airport.

She started walking to the little corner of the room that was her kitchen. “I have orange juice, and I just made some lemonade. Sorry I don’t have a large selection,” she said, glancing back at me.

“Lemonade sounds good.”

She beamed like it pleased her that I wanted to try her lemonade. I watched as she pulled down a glass from the open shelves she had instead of actual cabinets. Everything was neatly arranged. The food shelves were even organized. I needed her to come to my place and do my cabinets. They were a f*cking nightmare to find anything in.

Ice clinked in the glass, and I shifted my gaze back to her. She poured me some lemonade, then put the pitcher back into the narrow fridge. There couldn’t be much room in that thing.

“When you were in school, did anyone ever mention that you could be dyslexic?” I asked, as she brought me the drink.

She paused in mid-step. Then she continued walking toward me. “No, but I’ve heard of that. I just don’t know what it is, exactly.”

I took the glass and sat down on the chair across from the sofa. “The specialist I met with yesterday believes that is what you suffer from. Dyslexia does not mean you are in any way less intelligent than other people. I’ve been put in contact with a professor who has a PhD in learning disorders. He specializes in dyslexia. He’s willing to work with you free of charge after hearing about your problems. His father also was never diagnosed and didn’t learn to read and write until he was fifty years old. This is a passion of his now. He wants to help people. He wants to help you.”

Reese sank down onto the sofa, looking at me with many emotions crossing her face. But the dominant one was fear. I didn’t want her to be scared of this. I wanted to give her hope.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I encouraged her.

She gripped her hands tightly in her lap. “What—what if we find out that’s not it, and you went to all this trouble. I might just be stu—”

“Don’t let me hear you call yourself that again. It infuriates me, Reese. I’m serious. You are the farthest thing from that. I promise you. And if that’s not your problem, Dr. Munroe will find out what it is. This is a learning disability. It can be conquered.”

She closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath. I could see her wanting to hope for this. I just had to persuade her to reach out and take it. “He can figure out what my problem is if it isn’t dyslexia?” she asked, looking at me with those wide baby-blue eyes that did things to my chest.

“Yes. He can.”

She let out a small laugh, then covered her mouth as a sob broke free. I wasn’t sure if I should comfort her or wait it out, but then she stood up and launched herself at me. Her arms circled my neck as she slammed against me. All that cinnamon sweetness engulfed my senses. “Thank you . . . I don’t even know . . . that’s not even enough. I can’t find the right words. But just . . . thank you,” she said, as she let out another sob, still holding on tightly to me.

I gently wrapped my arms around her and tried like hell not to think about how good her tits felt pressed up against me. She was emotional and thanking me; I was not going to take advantage of this. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re willing to do this. I think you’re bound for great things, Reese. You just needed someone to give you a lift up.”

She pulled back to look at me and give me a watery smile, then buried her forehead in my chest. “I can’t believe you. I don’t know why you wanted to help me or what I did to deserve this. I woke you up singing, and I know my singing is horrible and was probably very loud. And I broke your mirror and made a mess that I haven’t even cleaned up yet, and I bled on you. I just don’t know why all that led to you doing something like this for me. But thank you.” She barely stopped for a breath as she let out all her feelings against my chest.