Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Sleep takes over effortlessly, but as I dream, a man with wavy brown hair and caramel eyes appears. He steals my breath as his lips meet mine. “Don’t run from me, my beauty,” he utters, but I’m confused because I’d never run from him.
“Never.” Only I’m pulled away, and then the sound of my alarm startles me out of my sleep, away from my dream man. The guy who had been in Mrs. Barrymore’s garage. A man who wasn’t Chet Whitaker, my actual boyfriend.
“Bad Girl,” I chastise myself, shaking my curly, long red locks. Forcing myself out of bed, I shower and wonder why I dreamed of the complete stranger, and then I recall having the conversation with Chet. It’s understandable, so I brush it off and dismiss the dream.
Once I’m moving and ready to go, I drive on down to Sweet Temptations Coffee and stand in line for a hot coffee to get my day going. It will be a large one because I’ll be pulling another ten-hour day just to make it to my date with Chet tonight.
I’m almost at the front of the line when I feel a pair of eyes on me. It’s weird because this isn’t the first time that I’ve felt them, and the slight chill they give me isn’t a good one. When I turn, I spot Mrs. Barrymore’s guest out of the corner of my eye. He isn’t looking at me. In fact, he’s making every attempt to avoid not looking at me. Strange. I’m about to call him out on it, but then Stacy calls my name. “Georgia, the usual?”
“Yes, please. It’s going to be a busy day.”
“How about a double then on the house?”
“Just a single. I’m sure this one will get cold before I even get halfway through it, but thanks anyway.” I pay her, and we exchange a few more pleasantries before I walk away to wait for my coffee. Since it’s simple, it doesn’t take Simon long to hand it over while Stacy handles the next customer. Mr. Stalker is staring at his phone when I pass him by, and I want to call him out, but then I get the feeling of someone watching me again. He’s not the one…
Chapter Three
Stellan
After spending a week with my nana, I decided to give her a break. As much as she loves having me visit, the old woman loves her space. We’re one and the same. It was one thing when she had a husband, but now that my grandfather was gone, there was something she truly enjoyed about her solitude. I gave her a nice hug and took her rinsed-out gallon jug full of sweet tea with me as I checked into a bay side cabin. I planned to rent it out for a month.
When I checked in, I caught sight of the woman on the bike. She’d been in the back, but not once did she come out of the office. The only glimpse I got was the strands of her hair, and I wondered if my imagination was playing tricks on me. After all, I was thinking about her for the entire week. Everywhere I popped up, I swear I could have seen her, but only for a split second, and then she was gone. It was as if I just made her up in my head—a pure figment of my lonely mind.
“Mr. Barrymore, are you well?” the man at the front asks after watching my gaze. I wanted to deck him, but I had no right. Even though most of the acting was fake, my muscles and fighting skills were legitimate. I took several martial arts training programs to become proficient in them, and I boxed often to relieve the sexual tension in my body that I didn’t use.
I turn back to him, check his nametag, and then say, “Yes, Chet. I would like not to be disturbed unless I require something.”
“Yes, sir. No one will bother you.” I got the feeling this asshole didn’t like me as much as I didn’t like him. It was quite funny because he had no reason unless he was with the redhead in the back.
“Hey, Carrie. Georgia and I will be going out tonight. Mr. Barrymore will be in cabin one. He doesn’t want to be disturbed. Make sure that stays that way.” The fucking bastard. I hated him for sure. Suddenly, I imagined busting his head into the countertop.
“Yes, Mr. Whitaker.” He walks away, and the woman smiles at me. “Don’t mind him. He and his woman are probably going to be getting busy in the other cabin. Pays to own the cabins,” she adds. She tilts her head to the woman with the red curls who has fascinated me since she crossed my path, and I want to fucking break the damn counter.