Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I heard something behind me and turned to find Oscar leaning against the wall across the hall. “I see you found my secret stash,” he said. He’d pulled on thin cotton pajama pants that hung low on his hips, revealing his perfectly toned abdomen. He did not have the physique of a man who regularly overly indulged in cookies.
“Preparing for the apocalypse?” I asked him, a little breathless. “With a dedicated cookie closet?”
“It was a selling feature when I bought the place last year,” he said solemnly. “I told the listing agent if I was going through the hassle of moving out of Brooklyn, it would only be to a property with a cookie closet. Resale value, you know?”
“Last year,” I repeated. “I don’t remember you mentioning a move.”
“It was right around the time of Wells’s wedding. Lesya handled most of the details, and I did my best to stay away until everything was set up.” He looked at me curiously. “Did you never wonder why I was staying at the hotel when I had a perfectly nice place with a cookie closet just a few blocks away?”
“I… I never considered it.” It had all been part of the mystery of Oscar Overton—a mystery I still hadn’t fully unraveled… and might never since the man was so damn good at deflecting questions he didn’t want to answer. “But back to the cookies, Oscar,” I said pointedly.
He sighed. “You try saying no to a little girl in her uniform asking you to buy cookies,” he grumbled. “It’s impossible. If you meet Rosette tomorrow at my mother’s brunch, then you’ll see how impossible it is to deny her anything.”
He bought the cookies for his niece’s troop? My heart melted.
“You could just donate to the troop,” I pointed out. “Then you wouldn’t end up with so many cookies.”
“It’s not the same. It’s not about the money for a lot of them; it’s about the pride in accomplishing something. It’s learning that you can do hard things. It’s encouraging them to keep going and keep trying.” Oscar rubbed at the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. “But this is just temporary. Lesya is making arrangements to donate the cookies to a few local food banks this week. Well, most of the cookies,” he amended. “I think I need to keep a few, don’t you?”
Sometimes this man made it too easy to want to fall in love with him. What had Abby said in her HEA video? That the only scary thing about the future was spending a minute away from Dex that she could have spent with him? I thought I was starting to understand that now. “You’re a good man, Oscar Overton.”
His eyes raked over my bare torso and down to the boxer briefs that felt tighter than they had a few minutes earlier.
“Not that good.”
I thought about this contradiction of a man, all the various pieces and parts of him.
“You have hidden depths,” I teased, enjoying the dichotomy between his obvious lust and his embarrassment over the Girl Scout stash. “Cookie depths.”
“Get in the bedroom,” he grumbled through a smile. “Apparently, I didn’t wear you out properly before, and I aim to do just that with the next round.”
17
OSCAR
Other than Boone, I’d never deliberately introduced a man—a date—to my family.
And this was why.
“Oh my gosh, look at you,” my mother cried with flapping air hands and eyes suspiciously shiny. “Get in here, both of you. Oscar, introduce me to your gentleman friend. Sage told us you were bringing someone special.” She whispered the last word as if it was too good to be true.
Marigold shoved herself into the conversation as usual. “Because someone didn’t bother to tell us the truth of his relationship status last month.”
“Someone is going to get a knuckle sandwich if she doesn’t back off,” I grumbled.
Birch raced over to stand next to my mother, his hand protectively on her back and his face a welcoming smile as usual. “We’re Oscar’s parents, Birch and Gloria, but you can call her Gladiolus if you’d like. She’s used to it.”
Hugh shook their hands, almost losing a few digits in the sudden crush of my mother’s hug. He laughed at her exuberance as if it wasn’t horrifying.
“Thanks for having me. Oscar’s told me about all of you.”
When my mom pulled back from the hug, she shot me a look that was half confusion, half hope. “He did? He normally—”
“Anyway,” I interrupted, shoving him past them into the large family room of their apartment. Even though they loved spending time at the Vermont house, they still spent plenty of time in the city, especially during holiday shopping season. “I promised Hugh a mimosa, didn’t I? Don’t want to keep the poor man parched.”
Hugh let out another laugh but gamely followed me to the large counter separating the family room from the kitchen. Thankfully, a tray of ice-cold mimosas and celery-topped Bloody Marys were set out for the taking.