Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“I would know because there are cameras.”
She looks at the corners of the room, her gaze bouncing around to scan for the hidden cameras. When she turns back to me, she’s not as amused as before. “Don’t you have to get my permission to film me?”
“Not in my house.”
“I thought it was your parents’?”
I shrug because we both know it’s the same thing.
As much fun as it is to spar with her verbally, I don’t want her to be paranoid. “There are no cameras. If you’re here to rob the joint or break my legs, there won’t be any evidence.”
She finally fills the mug I left out for her and takes a sip. “Good to know. Good. To. Know.” Holding the cup close to her chest, she asks, “And why would I want to break your legs?”
“Long story. Three-hundred and ten pages, in fact.”
She’s quite adorable when she looks at me perplexed. I’d rather have her swooning, but I’ll take her myriad of emotions over nothing. “What are we talking about? I’ve only had a few sips of coffee. The caffeine isn’t working yet.”
“It’s not important.” She is. Seeing her in the morning light reminds me of making love to her at sunrise in Austin. The sun had snuck in to wake us, but it wasn’t words that roused me to kiss her. It was the light in her eyes and how I could see forever.
Any other time I’ve thought of that moment, the last I held her before leaving to pack, I couldn’t linger long on the memory. Now, I want to indulge in it to compare to how she’s changed or if I can still see eternity. I know the answer, but selfishly, I’d love the opportunity. “How did you sleep?”
“Surprisingly well considering.”
The woman knows how to lay down a trap. I walk right into it. “Considering?”
“It was warm. The bed is comfortable.” The slightest shrug hits, and she adds, “I slept better than I expected, considering my new neighbor.”
I laugh, and for the first time since I saw her again, it’s real and feels good to release some of the tension I’ve been holding.
She turns around and rests her backside against the counter, her smile disarming. “I’m glad you’re not as grumpy today.” She holds the mug up. “You know how to make a good cup of coffee, so no complaints.” The surprise in her tone isn’t lost on me.
Kicking back in the big chair in the living room, I reply, “Yeah, I’m a real Renaissance man, remember?”
“I do.”
I hate how fast my good mood shifts, but hearing those words flaunted in front of me . . . takes me back to Magnolia Café. I keep my eyes trained on the mug in my hands to focus on something else. Seemingly not noticing me, she continues, “I didn’t expect to wake up to snow. I wanted to get out of your way today.”
Locking eyes on her, I take another sip of coffee. “Sometimes we don’t get what we want.”
The view of the white snow covering the ground and the dark lake ahead is extreme in contrast with the black-framed windows, making it picture-perfect. “No, we sure don’t.”
To get it out of the way, I add, “You’re stuck here at least one more night.” As soon as I woke up, I knew that would be the case, but I’m still unsure how I feel about her hanging around. Or the reverse and how she’ll take the news.
“If you don’t want company . . .” Moving closer, she stops just shy of the back of the couch. Her intuition is spot-on. She might be reading me better than I know myself. If only I could tell her the war my brain is having over her. “I can take my coffee in the bedroom?”
I shake my head, then signal to the couch. “We’re stuck together. You should make yourself at home.”
“It kind of reminds me of home in winter.”
“Where are you from?” And how do I not know this?
“New York, a small town a few hours from the city. It’s beautiful there as well, but it feels different than here. Probably the baggage that comes along with it.” She laughs quietly, but I don’t hear the joy behind it.
She comes around and sits, taking another drink of her coffee. Her eyes go to the mantel, her gaze running over each item sitting on it.
“There are no cameras. I promise.”
Readjusting, she gets more comfortable. “I’m going to trust you.”
Trust is something she can always give me. I would never hurt her despite the pain she’s caused me.
Her shorts ride higher on her thighs, exposing a small ravine dug into her skin. It’s only a few inches long, but the scar is noticeable. Rolling my gaze higher, I trace another jagged pink line down her arm. Neither was there when we were together. I would know. I memorized every inch of her body. The only flaw I found was that she was perfect for me in every way. Still is, if I’m being honest, and I’m finding the lies too much to carry around her.