Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
I ventured out and found a small café and grabbed a large, iced coffee and a bagel with cream cheese before coming back to the room. I wanted to explore more, but I didn’t want to miss Chad. He said around noon, but if he happened to be out early and headed this way, I didn’t want to miss him.
That brings me to my current situation. I’m propped up on the bed, iced coffee and bagel long since consumed, while I hold my e-reader in one hand, my phone clutched in the other—just in case Chad calls or sends a message.
I’m a romance novel junkie. I devour them and never leave home without my handy little reading device that puts the words of my favorite authors in the palm of my hands. I’m so engrossed in the story—the hero is about to confess his love for the heroine—when there’s a knock at the door.
Dropping my e-reader to the bed, I glance at my phone and see no new messages. My heart races with a little fear and a little anticipation. It’s just before noon, so a little earlier than when Chad said he would be finished. What if some stranger is knocking on my door? Keeping my steps light as I head to the door, I then stand on my tiptoes and peek through the peephole. Chad’s standing with his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels.
I pull open the door and smile at him. “Hey. You’re early.”
“You didn’t ask who it was.” He frowns.
“I didn’t have to. I saw you.” I point to the small glass-filled hole in the door. “I could see it was you.”
He nods. “Always check, okay?”
“You know I am an adult,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
His eyes quickly rake over my body before coming back to mine. “I know.” His voice is gruff, and I’m suddenly turned on and possibly in need of a change of underwear.
Stepping back, I allow him to enter, before closing the door, and following him farther into the small room. “So, what are we doing today?”
“I have a plan, if you don’t have anything already planned.”
“Nope. I was waiting for you.” I look down at my cutoff jean shorts and tank top. “Am I dressed okay?”
“You’re perfect. It’s hot as hell outside, and we’re going to be outdoors.”
“What are we doing?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“A hint?”
“It’s outdoors.” He flashes me a wicked grin. The same one that has my belly flutter with butterflies every single time he aims it my way. “I thought we could grab some lunch, and head out. It’s about an hour away. Just a little over an hour according to my phone.”
“Sure, let me grab my things.” Moving back to the bed, I turn off my e-reader, and I know it’s a contradiction that I said I take it everywhere, but I’m not taking it today. I don’t want anything to take me away from Chad. “You’re here early.”
“Yeah, we wrapped up early. I might have ridden the guys a little harder than needed to wrap it up.” He chuckles.
“They’re going to label you as a hard-ass.”
He shrugs. “I wanted to see you.”
When he says things like that, it makes it harder to remind my heart that he’s being a good guy, a good friend. It’s difficult to keep the lines between me being head over heels in love with him and our friendship at bay.
I shake out of my moment of swooning over his words, and slide my feet into my flip-flops, grab my purse, and phone then smile at him. “Ready.”
Ten minutes later, we’re pulling into a small diner in town that screams home cooking, and I’m pumped about it. The bagel I had earlier is long gone. With his hand on the small of my back, the heat from his hand searing my skin through my shirt, Chad leads me into the small diner. We read the sign that tells us to seat ourselves, and he guides the way to a small back-corner booth.
“I love this place already,” I tell Chad, reaching for a laminated menu that’s kept on the table.
“How do you know?” he asks, reaching for his own menu.
“It smells delicious, and it’s literally named Mom and Pop’s. You know you’re about to experience culinary homemade goodness with a name like that,” I tell him.
“I can’t argue with that reasoning.” He chuckles.
“What can I get ya?” an older lady wearing a black apron, with her hair tied up with ink pens asks.
“Faith.” Chad nods to me to go first.
“I’ll have the country fried steak, white gravy, mashed potatoes, and green beans, please. Oh, and white milk to drink.”
She writes it all down with a nod and turns toward Chad.
“Double that, please,” he says, placing his menu back behind the salt and pepper shakers.