Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“You’re right. I hate you, but you are.” Her nose joins the scrunch until her prune face makes us both laugh. When we’ve pulled ourselves together, she squeezes my arm, “Come on. Let me close up and pamper you a little. You deserve it. We can paint our nails, too. I have a home gel kit that keeps the paint from chipping for at least a week.”
I tip my head to the side. “Okay.” Before she can celebrate, I warn, “But not too much makeup. And you have to teach me how to do it. Just in case I want to put it on myself sometime.”
She beams. “Yes. That will be perfect. You will be perfect. You don’t need much. Just a little something to bring out the color in your cheeks and those gorgeous eyes.”
While she closes up, I text Gramps—Hey, gonna grab dinner with Elaina then head back to my place for an early bedtime. You need anything from town? I can grab you a plate from The Seafood Hut on my way back if you want.
After a few moments, he texts back—Nah. I’m good. I’ll just have chili leftovers. Good for a fall night. The temperature’s going to nosedive, so put out your warm socks for tomorrow and wear a base layer. See you in the morning.
Okay, will do. See you then—I say, feeling guilty for lying to Gramps.
But lying is for the best and it’s not like he hasn’t had company today. We were out on the boat together until one-thirty and he hit the pub for a drink with some friends while I headed home to shower.
Still, I never lie to Gramps.
Well, almost never…
I might have lied a teeny tiny bit when I said I wasn’t sad about giving up that scholarship to study photography at the college of Art and Design in Portland. I wanted to stay and help out on the boat…but I also wanted to spread my wings and fly. I wanted to be one of the first people in my family to go to college and work a job that didn’t involve hauling traps into a boat or frying up food at the restaurant my grandmother owned before she died.
“Ready?” Elaina asks once she’s drawn the curtains over the front windows, giving the cats privacy for the rest of the day.
I nod. “Yeah.”
I am ready. Ready to make a change and maybe drag out some of those old dreams I’ve put on the shelf.
But first, I’m ready to spend the night with a man who makes me feel more alive than I have in a very long time.
chapter 12
WEAVER
After a day spent working remotely, several phone calls from family members with boat maintenance concerns, and another conversation with a teary Laura about why I won’t be turning the reins over to Mark any time in the near future, I’m desperate for something to take my mind off how much I wish I were anywhere but here.
Then I hear her soft footsteps on the deck. She appears at the top of the stairs, dressed in a fluffy black sweater and dark gray leggings. Her hair flows around her shoulders in silky waves, her eyes are even more arresting than usual, and I suddenly don’t want to be anywhere else.
It’s a problem, how quickly I’m becoming attached to this girl, irritating in an entirely different way than my needy relatives.
I blame that irritation for the harsh note in my voice as I say, “What have you done to your face?”
Her hand flies to hover beside her pink cheek, uncertainty in her expression as she steps off the final stair to face me across the living room. I remain seated in the large leather armchair, not wanting her to see that I’m already pitching a tent in my pajama pants.
This is a problem, too, how just laying eyes on her is enough to make me desperate to fuck in a way I haven’t experienced since I was in high school.
“Elaina did my makeup,” she says, rubbing lightly at her cheek with the back of her hand. “Is it too much? I thought it was too much, but she said that was just because I wasn’t used to wearing any.”
“Stop, you’re stunning,” I grumble, annoyed with myself for making her doubt herself. “You’re just more stunning without it.”
Her darker-than-usual brows lift. “Seriously?”
I nod, “You look more…like you.”
She cocks her head. “You mean that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
Her eyes narrow. “And you think you know me well enough to know when I look more like myself, Mr. Fancy?”
I hold her gaze, my cock getting even harder as the air between us fills with potential. “I know you better than you think, Ms. Sullivan. We’re not so different. You and I.”
She blinks, seemingly surprised, but after a moment, she nods. “Maybe we aren’t. Not in the ways that count. But you still scare the shit out of me sometimes.”