Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” I agree, swallowing a sip of coffee as Kendall comes running into the kitchen and plops her butt into the chair. Her hair is still messy, but she’s at least dressed in her school uniform. She dives into her food, telling me between bites how good it is.
After she finishes eating, I brush her hair and stick it up in a ponytail, and then we’re off. I walk her to school, which isn’t far from our apartment in Lennox Hills, kissing her goodbye and telling her I’ll see her at three o’clock when school gets out. Working at Emerald’s means I get to be home with my little girl. I take classes while she’s in school and spend the afternoon with her. We get to have dinner together, and after she goes to bed, I head out to work.
Today, I only have one class, and when it’s over, since it’s relatively nice outside, I decide to do my studying at Bryant Park. It’s not far from Kendall’s school, so when three o’clock rolls around I can scoop her up and we can go home.
I find an available bench and am sorting through my books, when someone barks out a string of expletives. I look up and find a man, flailing his arms all around him, like he’s fighting with the air.
“Jesus Christ!” he hisses, swatting at… something. I can’t see what it is, but unless he’s lost his mind, something is attacking him, I think.
“Are you okay?” I ask, standing…to do what? I have no clue.
“This damn bee won’t go away.”
I don’t see a bee, but what I do see is an extremely hot man with a forest green beanie on his head, a white Henley stretched across his chest, and forest green pants hugging his obviously muscular thighs. His face is full of dark scruff, and his brown eyes are the color of melted chocolate chips.
In the moment of silence, the buzzing of the bee is heard, and I spot it. On his shoulder.
“Don’t move!” I jump into action, grabbing my sandal from my foot and slapping his shoulder the bee is perched on. It takes a couple tries, but finally the bee drops to the ground. The man spots it and proceeds to stomp on it with his large shoe-clad foot. Over and over again.
“I think it’s dead,” I tell him through a laugh. “But maybe stomp on it one more time…just in case.”
As if realizing I’m still here, he locks eyes with me and smiles back, his perfectly white teeth practically sparkling against his naturally tanned skin. “You’re my hero,” he says, his grin widening. “I’m allergic to bees.”
“I’m glad my sandal could be of assistance.” I drop it to the ground and slide it back on.
“I’m Easton.” He holds out his hand and I glance down at it, noting how large and masculine it is.
“I’m—”
“Excuse me,” a petite woman says, cutting me off. “I just watched all of that.” She waves her hand in the air. “It was brilliant! Please tell me you two are strangers and single.”
“What?” Easton and I both say at the same time.
“The bee… You beating him with your sandal… The laughing. Do you two know each other?”
“No,” Easton says, “but she did just save my life.”
He winks playfully and I throw my head back with a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
“And are you both single?”
We both nod at the same time.
“Well, if it isn’t my lucky day!” She squeals. “My name is Rita, and I’m a photographer.” She lifts her camera that’s hanging around her neck. “I’m doing a special showcase next month at my gallery called Stranger Sessions. It’s pretty much how it sounds. I find strangers and pair them up, taking pictures of them. I don’t sell them, and they’ll only be showcased on my website and in my gallery. I was searching for some strangers when I saw you two. So, what do you say? Will you do it?” Before either of us can answer, she adds, “And look how adorable you two are. You’re even matching!”
I glance down at my lacy, white tank top and green pants and snort out a laugh because she’s right. We’re totally matching. “I’m down,” I tell her, feeling adventurous. Taking pictures with a good-looking man is hardly a hardship.
But when my eyes meet Easton’s, he looks sort of nervous. “I mean, only if you are…If you don’t want to, we don’t have to,” I add, trying to backtrack, so I don’t look like an idiot.
His brown-eyed gaze locks on me for a brief moment before he says, “I’m down.”
“Oh yay!” Rita exclaims. “Thank you. Just sign right here, stating you agree to allow me to post the photos on my website and in my gallery, and then we can get started.”