Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“I’m happy they had me, but Dad was so old. He wasn’t like you. Uh, not that you’re old.” She snatches her hand away, grabs her soda, and starts to sip it as though she needs to give herself an excuse for not speaking.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Don’t worry, my perfect painter. I’m pretty hard to offend. Anyway, I am old, especially compared to you.”
“But you’re not,” she says passionately, slamming the glass down. “Fine, you’re older than me. I get that, but you’re not old. You’re fit. You’re healthy. You take good care of yourself. You’re mature and experienced.” Her eyes glint playfully. I wonder if she’s filled with horny-as-fuck ideas like me. “Dad didn’t take care of himself. Mom isn’t great, either. Heck, am I?” She shrugs. “I know one thing. I don’t want to wait until I’m forty-one to have a baby.”
My body responds with an urgent pulse. Even if somebody ran in here with a photo of James and played a recording of him proclaiming his love for Samantha, I wouldn’t be able to stop.
“You want kids?” I ask.
“Yeah, for sure,” she says, as though the answer is obvious. “Honestly, not to sound crazy, I’d like to have them sooner rather than later. I want to be on the younger side when they’re little. I want to be there for them.”
I tighten my hold on her hand, hearing the change in her tone and the agony buried in her voice. “You’re going to make an amazing mother.”
She laughs in disbelief. “Oh, really? What makes you so sure of that?”
“Instinct,” I snap.
“Instinct?” she repeats, shaking her head slowly. “So you’ve got some magic are-they-good-parents instinctual radar or something?”
I must have one because, looking in the mirror, I know that man isn’t a good parent. “You’re damn right I do. I can see how badly you want this. Some people have kids for the wrong reasons. They have kids just to make a point or to trap someone.”
I let Samantha’s hand go, leaning back and picking up the menu. Suddenly, the jazz seems offensively loud. Somebody is making a clattering sound on the floor below, maybe cutlery or the telltale metallic rattling of weaponry.
“Fletcher?” she murmurs. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I say. “Just hungry. What’re you in the mood for?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Samantha
Fletcher cuts into his steak, seeming different from when we did the whole cover story thing. When he mentioned some women having kids to trap people, it seemed obvious he was talking about himself. He got angry quickly, his blue eyes flashing with twin flames. Now, he focuses on his steak, cutting determinedly.
I eat a fry, looking at his silver peppered hair, neatly combed, his shirt open at the top to show a hint of chest. Every second, I have to remind myself that this is real. I’m on a date with the most handsome, hottest older man I’ve ever seen.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He glances up and smiles tightly. He’s closing off. I sense he’s good at that. “Fine.”
“Oh, okay.”
We go on quietly, but then he sighs and lays his fork aside. His expression is so tight like he’s trying to hold a lot back. Or maybe he’s trying to break through his own walls.
“We can talk,” I tell him. “Maybe I’m going nuts, but it sort of seems like you want to.”
His smirk changes my mood right away. That’s how I know there’s something special here. The moment his lips curve upward, it’s like sunlight bursting through the bleak gray clouds. “You can read me just as easily as I can read you, eh, my perfect painter?”
The nickname lights me up. Maybe my social skills aren’t as terrible as I thought, at least regarding my man. “I think I’m getting the knack of it.”
“Go on, then.” He leans forward, giving me all his attention. It feels like a gift. I warn myself not to get too carried away, smitten, or hypnotized, but it’s difficult. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I…”
“Don’t hesitate,” he growls. “Just say it, the first thing that comes into your head. I promise you won’t offend me.”
I swallow, weirdly remembering the date with James. All evening, I tried to work up the courage to say what was on my mind, but I couldn’t get over the block inside me. With his dad, though, it feels so much easier. Not easy, but not impossible either.
“When you mentioned women having kids to trap people, I thought you were talking about yourself and your late wife—”
“We were never married,” he cuts in. “I’ve never been married. If I ever do, it will be the first time.”
Just like it will be for me… Is that why he said that? To hint that we’ll be sharing that particular first together?
“Okay, your late partner, then,” I say. “That’s what leaped to mind, but I could be wrong.”