Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Love,
Scarlett
“Are you ready for this?” Noah asked with an excited smile, straightening his tie as we sat parked in front of the studio, the January snow flurrying by.
“If I’m not?” My eyebrows arched.
“It will be awkward in an hour when everyone shows up, but we can lock the door, turn off the lights, and pretend we’re not here.” He lifted my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist, sending a jolt of need straight through me. I’d had him in my bed nearly every night for the past two and a half months, and the need hadn’t lessened. All he had to do was look at me, and I was ready for him. “But I am willing to offer any bribe you want just to see what you’ve been creating in there.”
“I am pretty proud of my little collection.” I’d just about worked my fingers off getting ready for this night. There were a few dozen minor pieces ready for sale, and a few larger ones I’d mostly made for display. Invitations had gone out, replies received, and now all I could do was open the doors and pray I hadn’t wasted what was left of my bank account.
“I’m proud of you.” This time he kissed my lips, sucking lightly on the lower one before releasing it. I was completely and thoroughly addicted to this man. It was only supposed to be a fling—that was the deal. He’d leave as soon as the book was finished, and watching the days tick by only served to remind me that we were living on borrowed time. Every day I expected him to tell me it was done, but it wasn’t. Pretty soon he’d be flirting with missing the print deadline if he wasn’t careful. “I know tonight is going to be just as amazing as you are.”
“Glad one of us is certain.” I sucked in a breath and reminded myself that this was Poplar Grove, Colorado, not New York City. There were no paparazzi, no movie stars or execs, no gossip columnists, and no one who feigned interest in me just to get five minutes with Damian. This was mine—only mine—and Noah was going to be the first person I shared it with.
He held my hand as we walked to the door, then blocked the wind as I fumbled with my key to get the heavy glass open. Then I led him inside the dark space.
“Wait right here. Close your eyes.” I wanted to see his face when the lights came on.
“You’d think it was my birthday and not yours,” he teased.
I laughed, then walked to the light switch once I was certain his eyes were well and truly closed. The space was as familiar to me as my bedroom by now. I could find my way blindfolded if I needed to.
I flipped the switch, and the gallery lit up in a dozen places. There were vases and small sculptures lining the glass shelves on the walls, two bigger tower pieces in each bay window, and in the center, on a pedestal highlighted with its own lighting, sat my favorite piece.
“You can open your eyes,” I said softly, then held my breath as Noah’s dark gaze swept over the gallery in appreciation, his smile wide as he took it all in, then fixed on the pedestal.
“Georgia,” he whispered with a shake of his head. “My God.”
“Do you like it?” I slid in to his side, and he tucked his arm around my waist, pulling me tighter.
“It’s magnificent.”
My favorite piece of the collection was a crown composed of glass icicles ranging from six to ten inches long. “Get it?” A corner of my mouth lifted in a smirk.
“It’s befitting of an Ice Queen,” he answered with a low chuckle. “Though you’re anything but cold. It’s incredible.”
“Thank you. I never commented on their little digs because there’s power in silence and grace in holding your head high, but I figured why not own it? I’m the only person who gets to define me anymore, and besides, maybe I’ll make a crown of flames next.” I could already see it taking shape in my mind.
“You are incredible, Georgia Stanton.” He turned and cradled my face, then kissed me deeply. “Thank you for sharing this with me, and just in case I don’t get to say it again before we go home, happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” I said against his mouth, savoring our last few minutes of privacy before the catering staff arrived.
Within the hour, the doors were open, and the gallery filled with guests from my small town. I greeted the first dozen people, showing them around the space with Noah at my side. Lydia—our housekeeper—and her daughter arrived, then Hazel and Owen, Cecilia Cochran from the library, Mom—
I gasped, my free hand flying to my mouth. Noah’s arm came around my waist, steadying me as Mom came through the small crowd, wearing a pale pink sheath and a shaky smile.