Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Best I Ever Had |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | S.L. Scott |
| Language: | English |
| Book Information: | |
The storm. The man. Both come without warning. My heart opens to Cooper Haywood the moment we meet. How can it resist? He’s charming, devastatingly handsome, and sweeps me off my feet before I realize the impact he’s making. And then it’s too late. We fall too fast to worry about the consequences. We love so hard that we ache when we’re apart. Even though I have a past that still haunts me and he has a future that could put us at risk, none of that matters when we’re together. Until it does. And then everything changes. Although the best thing he ever gave me now calls me Mommy, I can’t help but wonder if Cooper Haywood and that fateful storm were one and the same. | |
| Books by Author: | S.L. Scott |
Part I
The First Time I Saw Her
No halo is hanging over her chestnut-colored hair, and she’s paler than most of the sun-worshiping girls at the party. She blends into the background. Not much about her outfit stands out—corduroy miniskirt, sunset-orange tights, ankle boots, and a burgundy top caught at the waist. No one else seems to notice her.
Except me
. . . And Troy Hogan.
But seeing the way he wraps his arm around her neck, I’d say they’re already well-acquainted. That’s too bad.
For him.
She may be dating him tonight, but we haven’t met yet.
1
Cooper Reed Haywood
Five Months Later
* * *
I’ve never believed in omens or signs, but I’ve been given several in the past hour.
The lights of Bean There coffee shop shine like a beacon through the heavy pelts of rain. I make a mad dash for the door, swinging it open with more force than necessary in my rush to get inside. No one appears bothered when the bell above the door rings, but I get two quick glances from over the tops of laptops near the counter.
And then they carry on minding their own business.
“Seat yourself,” chimes a voice from behind a swinging door. The porthole window gives me a glimpse of the brunette bustling in the back.
I score a table by the window and, as luck would have it, an outlet. My laptop doesn’t have enough juice to last the hours needed to write my paper. When my building lost power and the generator didn’t kick in, I went to the library. The horde of over-caffeinated and procrastinating students pouring out of the doors told me I’d have no luck in there.
After rubbing my hair dry with the hood of my jacket, I unpack my bag to prepare for the long night ahead. As this coffee shop is on the opposite side of town from where I live and farther from Atterton University’s campus than I generally travel for a hot brew, this is my first visit. But it’s decent in here, low key with a kind of old-school hideaway vibe to it—lamps instead of bright overhead lights, scuffed wood floors that have seen better days, and jazz playing in the background.
Apparently, I’m the only one not privy to this secret. Every table, though they’re small, is occupied. Bags on the floor, laptops open, the unflattering glow of LED white lights reflecting across faces half-hidden by their screens.
Little plates with muffins and coffee cups fill the tables to the point I’m starting to think these people are taking up residency instead of just being here for the evening. That or the staff is slacking. Since I’m not seeing anyone other than the girl in the back, I’m thinking that might be more the case.
When I reach down to plug my laptop in, I hear, “The storm rolled in without warning.”
I turn back to see golden-centered hazel eyes peering down at me and a smile that momentarily makes me think sunshine has broken through the rain. But those sunset-orange tights give the brunette beauty away as images of a party last summer come flashing back.
Not sure why I glance down at her ring finger. Habit, I guess.
I’ve been called a player a time or ten, but I’ve only ever set out to break apart one relationship.
Hers.
Wonder if it worked. “Hi,” I say.
Her smile widens. “Hi.” When she glances out the window, I’m given a quick chance to study her. Again.
It’s not been a year since I last saw her, not even quite five months, but she looks a little different. Other than the telltale sign of a small green apron signifying that she works here, the strings are pulled tight around a curvy little waist I wouldn’t mind exploring sometime, and her hair is longer with lighter-colored strands blended in.
High cheekbones highlight those pretty hazel eyes and long lashes, but I’m drawn to the natural pink pucker of her lips as she studies the weather outside. Most girls choose cherry gloss, but her mouth is matte. It makes me curious what she tastes like.
A black suede skirt instead of corduroy and the same boots she wore at my party. But that’s not the difference I’m sensing. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
She shifts to look back at me. “I was saying the storm came out of nowhere.”
“The weather app predicted it, but no one expects a summer storm like this in December.”
“Not without snow along with it, but the fifties won’t get us there. And technically, that’d be a winter storm then.”
“I hate snow.”
Her smile remains as bright as her eyes. “I don’t mind it so much.”
“Yeah?” This time, I grin. “What is it about snow that you don’t mind so much?”
She slips into the seat across from me without an invitation. I like that about her. Leaning forward as if she’s revealing a secret, she replies, “I think it’s more the images it conjures. A Baileys Irish Cream hot chocolate by a roaring fire. Curled up in a big, cushy chair reading a book while snow falls outside. Christmas morning and presents under the tree.”