Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
I don’t bother correcting him.
I just clamp my teeth together and don’t say a word.
Neither of these clowns will believe me. The more I fight back, the more they’ll think I’m already fucking her nightly.
“Let’s say a couple weeks for now,” I say, slipping back into business mode. “After that, we can discuss it again if it’s still applicable.”
Patton gives me a shit-eating grin. “You mean when you know her better.”
“Fuck you.” I roll my eyes.
Though, somehow, I have a feeling he’s right.
There’s no way to do this good deed without getting more tangled up with this woman and the crazy she brings in her wake.
A woman like Winnie Emberly doesn’t come streaking into your life like a comet without making an impact.
I just have to brace for catastrophe and hope the carnage isn’t permanent.
9
WANNA SEE YOU BEE BRAVE (WINNIE)
Maybe it’s the emotional whirlwind I’ve been through these past few days, but I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why Archer Rory wants to meet at The Sugar Bowl.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a sweet place. Literally.
This cute little bakery lined with old photos of smiling people from floor to ceiling, scrumptious desserts, an adorable founding granny, and many, many awards they’ve won.
Archer wasn’t too transparent when he texted me the directions.
From the minute I showed up, the neon lights and picture-perfect cakes and confections in the window told me this place is going to be good.
Of course, it’s the same bakery I’ve been ordering my pity-party breakup boxes and unhealthy breakfasts from. My mouth waters just from stepping inside and inhaling the doughy air and so many other smells.
Chocolate. Cinnamon. Miracles.
If I’m being honest, I’d pop into plenty of bakeries in Springfield and DC too. Holden used to call my sweet tooth ‘unhealthy,’ but I like to think it’s sophisticated.
If people can be wine snobs, why can’t they go to pieces over a heavenly eclair, or a bear claw so glazed you can skate on it?
I wish I had time to bake more myself.
I wish my parents let me, back when I lived at home.
I’ve watched so many episodes of The Great British Bake Off that I could lecture you about the best way to make macaroons.
This place has macaroons, too. Lavender and chocolate and lemon and—
Okay, focus!
None of this gives me a clue about why Archer summoned me here.
I spin around the middle of the floor, though, my bag clamped firmly to my side, just vibing in the carefree atmosphere.
There’s a rack overhead with hanging plants draped through the slats. Tables are clustered together at friendly intervals, and there’s so much wood and old-school tile walls.
Archer isn’t here yet.
I check the time and pick a table in the corner. There’s a menu already posted, a little leather booklet with gorgeous photos of desserts.
Yes, this place is magical.
Arriving early means I’m perfectly positioned to see Archer when he shows up. I don’t have to wait long, and when he does…
You know how it is in movies when time slows down and dramatic music swells as soon as the immaculately dressed hero arrives with the wind tossing his hair?
It’s that moment exactly, minus the background track. And he walks toward the nonexistent camera after a quick scan around the room.
That moment, but real life.
This man is inhumanly attractive.
The whole big daddy package with dark hair brushed back from his forehead, piercing blue eyes, and stubble that would make every inch of a girl’s skin tingle in the best way.
Today, he’s gone casual with jeans and a white tee that shows off a tattoo wrapping up one arm.
Holy hell.
…is that a freaking eagle attacking a snake? No, the bird doesn’t look quite right. It’s smaller, shaped more like a cardinal.
I can’t make out all the fine details, but I see enough. It’s so whimsical and unexpected I smile.
Be still my beating heart.
And God, this man is sculpted. His biceps strain the sleeves of his shirt—which should be illegal, by the way—and I can appreciate the incredible Atlas-worthy breadth of his shoulders.
He really looks like he’s ready to take on the world without a complaint.
He swings into the seat across from me and nods at the menu, giving me time to recover my wits and tuck my jaw back into place.
“Hey, Winnie.”
“Hi,” I say, thankful my voice still works and isn’t dripping with dumb, flirty desire. I hope.
“See anything you want here?”
He’s talking about the menu. The menu, girl.
“See anything I don’t want, you mean? This place is divine.” My face screws up with delight. “But honestly, I’m a chocoholic, so I’ll probably try that volcanic brownie with toffee apple sauce.”
“You sure you don’t want the special?” He reaches over, showing off his designer watch as he hands me a smaller laminated menu I hadn’t noticed before. “Honey cupcakes. With fresh honey and cream cheese frosting.”