Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“I don’t plan to stick around.” She nibbled her lip. “I’m not looking for anything long term.”
I wasn’t looking for anything myself. My boss, however, was looking for the long term, and when Niamh was pregnant with my child, she wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t for a second believe I’d be a good father, but I wouldn’t abandon my kid.
“Then how about you and I test the waters? We see where this might lead?” I asked.
She looked doubtful and I knew I was so fucking bad at this.
“I … uh, I’m not good at this. It might have something to do with the fact that growing up, I never knew my mother. Never had a great father. He was a piece of shit, in all honesty. Liked using his fists and playing mind games and shit like that.” Not a lie, but vague enough for her to not ask too many questions. “I … like you. I get that you may not like me now, but do you think there’s a chance you could grow to like me?”
I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing or saying. All I knew was if I didn’t do as Ivan asked, there would be consequences.
Niamh opened her mouth, pressed her lips together, and then glanced down at the floor, before lifting her head. “I, uh, I kind of like you. I mean, there are a lot of women that like you.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about them,” I said.
They had tried to come on to me. Offered me money in exchange for favors. Even if Ivan hadn’t given me this job, I still wouldn’t have taken either of them up on their offer. I didn’t offer up my body for money.
“You don’t?”
“Do you see them in my place? Me offering them food?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then I don’t give a fuck about them, and I’m with the one I want to be with.”
****
Niamh
“Then I don’t give a fuck about them, and I’m with the one I want to be with.”
That shouldn’t have sounded so romantic, and maybe I’d not known or been around a lot of romance to know what it is when I see it. Either way, Peter’s words hit right in the chest.
I knew I was messed up, growing up with a mother who couldn’t stand me, who openly admitted to wanting to kill me because I wasn’t a boy. Hating me for not being beautiful, or having the right hair, or the right look. For hating my weight, and just for breathing. Also a father that hated me as well. Love was not something I was accustomed to.
I’d watched a lot of romance and family dramas, and sitcoms growing up. I loved them, and it was what I had craved for my own life. It was something I had promised myself—that when I grew up, I was going to have the family, the husband that loved me, and never was I going to allow my parents access to my child.
That didn’t go according to plan.
Staying in Pickle Quest was a mistake. I knew that, but I really liked the small town. I did feel safe, and I felt I could build a life here. Maybe I was just living the fairy tale right now.
My father was going to come and look for me. He’d told me many times that I was a Byrne, as if it meant something. To me, it didn’t. I hated the name.
Peter was the first man in my life to be nice to me. He wasn’t after his own agenda. There was nothing he wanted, and he seemed to like my company. Also a bonus, he could cook. He’d pulled a couple of pieces of chicken out of the fridge, and thought he was going to cook us a stir-fry as he’d grabbed some mushrooms and bell peppers. The cheese he’d gotten as well, and then I watched him begin to work.
He started with slicing the chicken through the center to make thinner breasts. He moved around the kitchen, grabbed a few spices and herbs, and added them to the chicken, using his fingers to massage them into the breast. Even raw with the spices, it looked good.
Next, he got to work on the mushrooms, and by the time he was finished, the frying pan was steaming hot.
“You know how to cook,” I said.
“I know how to feed myself. I wouldn’t call myself a chef.” This made me smile. It felt good to smile and laugh. I’m surprised he didn’t push my ass into the car, and take me back to my apartment when I had that laughing fit.
My dad is a complete and total bastard, and I didn’t consider Peter even in the same league as him. To think he was worried I thought he was a thief, was so funny. I knew evil, and Peter was not. All he’d shown me was kindness, and I liked that.