Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I tilted my chin and almost swallowed my tongue.
No one looked sexy in khakis and a polo. It was the most boring, uninspired wardrobe choice on the planet. Safe for work, safe for family gatherings, safe for dates…just safe. But Bryson did something to that shirt that transformed it into a thirst trap. The light-blue fabric made his eyes pop and accentuated his toned arms and chest, tapering neatly at his trim waist.
I wiped the corner of my mouth with my thumb and grinned.
“You’re here,” Bryson stated matter-of-factly.
“You’re late,” I teased.
“No, I was on a previously scheduled conference call. Nine o’clock was never going to be a good time for me.”
“Oh, well…you could have messaged me.” I sighed with mock censure. “Take a seat.”
“I believe my secretary did text you. One of my associates will contact you to set an appointment to view a couple of properties. I was…just going to grab a coffee.” He hiked his thumb at the door to Rise and Grind and twitched his lips in a weak attempt at a smile. “Have a good—”
“No need. This is for you.” I pushed the to-go cup toward him and kicked the empty chair in invitation. “Sit.”
He narrowed his eyes but obeyed. “You bought me a latte?”
“Technically the French-Canadian guy did and it’s probably stone cold by now, but that’s on you. Oh, and I ate the croissant I was gonna share. It was good and I was bored.”
“Thanks, um…that was nice of you.”
“I’m a nice guy.” I beamed. “And that’s a damn good latte.”
Bryson gave a reluctant smile. “It is. So, you saw the listing on Spruce.”
“Yeah, do you know it?”
“Sure. It’s run-down, and it’s probably not what you’re looking for. The owners are representing themselves, and though the Rinaldis are good people, they’re not overly concerned with appearances.”
“That’s okay by me. I don’t need anything fancy. The price is right and it’s month to month, so…it could be a winner.”
“If you say so. I’ll have Duncan show it to you this afternoon,” he said in a professional, detached tone.
Huh, he seriously didn’t want anything to do with me.
If I were the nice guy I claimed to be, I would have backed off and respected the invisible wall Bryson was in the process of building between us. But fuck that. We didn’t have to be best friends, but I wasn’t going to pretend I didn’t know him at all. That was weird.
I crumpled the pastry bag and leaned forward. “Where’s Spruce Street?”
“One block over.”
I hopped up and tossed my garbage into the bin. “Excellent. Let’s go now.”
Bryson stood slowly, nodding to a passerby before giving me one of those patient looks reserved for wayward children. “We can’t go now.”
“Why not? Does it have one of those lockboxes that realtors can get into?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Then let’s do it. One block, one quick peek. We can be in and out in ten minutes.”
“That’s what he said,” he mumbled almost under his breath.
I burst into laughter. “That’s the Bryson I sort of know and am vaguely fond of.”
He twisted his lips in amusement for a split second and released a beleaguered sigh. “It happens to be one street away from my office, so…all right. Ten minutes.”
We walked in silence down Main Street, made a right on Spruce, and passed a handful of pretty bungalows with neatly trimmed hedges. A few of the houses had kitschy summer flags with dragonflies and beach themes hanging from their porches and mailboxes hand-painted with daisies and butterflies. Not really my style, but I could live with cutesy shit for a couple of months…no problem.
“Nice street,” I commented idly, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I admired a white house with green shutters and a picket fence.
“Yes,” Bryson agreed. “There’s the rental.”
“I like it. I don’t even need to see the interior. I’ll take it.” I nudged his elbow. “See how easy that was?”
“Not that house. Over there.” He pointed at the brown box with a weed-ridden front yard and overgrown hedges on the opposite side of the street.
“Oh.” I wrinkled my nose and followed him. “Is it my imagination or is it leaning to the left?”
“It is.” He cocked his head to the left and nodded. “Still want to take a peek?”
“Sure. Why not?”
I cleared a massive spider web out of the way while Bryson dealt with the lockbox. He pushed the front door open and cautiously stepped inside.
“This is not safe,” he pronounced a moment later. “I need to talk to the Rinaldis. They shouldn’t be allowed to rent this place. My God. Look at the hole in the floorboard.”
It was more of an excessively worn plank or two in the foyer rather than an actual hole, but it was definitely a hazard.
“When was the last time someone lived here? It’s musty and dusty.” I ventured toward the fireplace, noting the thick layer of grime on the mantel.