Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Even though I’m sure, she’d only echo them back to me.
But we’ve got time.
We’ve got all day, what’s left of it. And we’ve definitely got all night.
She’s quick to fall asleep as we lie together, and not having slept either since god knows when I doze a little. That fireman’s sleep, where my eyes close and I hear my own breathing grow shallow, but I’m still ready to get up for a call if I need to.
But as much as I could lay here in bed with her forever, I still want to give her a special housewarming.
I still want to do my best to show her I’m more than just a hunk of beef with a tongue.
Plus, I need to get the fireplaces lit, and if we’re gonna eat, I’ll need to prepare the food I had Hank from the store organize for me.
It’s not exactly five-star dining and accommodations, but I’ve never been into that sort of thing, and I’m pretty sure Bridget isn’t either.
At least, I don’t think she is.
I’d feel bad if Bridget ever felt awkward or out of place in some fancy restaurant or hotel, but here she looks and feels right at home.
Since the second she saw the place, which is exactly how I feel too, now that she’s here with me.
She stirs and reaches for me when I slide out of our bed, so I linger as long as I can.
I stroke her hair and kiss her forehead until she drifts back into a deep sleep.
I make sure and switch on the heating too, it does get cold out here.
And all the log fires are the phony, gas-powered kind.
No live embers or sparks in this household.
The thought makes me wince as I remember the candles, but I think I can get off my high horse for just one night.
A few candles over dinner isn’t the same as going to sleep with them burning, or whatever it is people do with ‘em that causes so much heartache for us firefighters.
I tiptoe around our bedroom, grateful to keep a full closet of all the kinds of clothes I need whenever I visit.
I smile as I slip into some jeans and a flannel shirt before making my way quietly downstairs to my truck.
The house creaks and groans like all old places do, but it’s more my heavy steps I’m worried about that might wake Bridget. She’s gonna need her rest, and I can already feel my loins filling up again. Eager to claim her good and proper.
There’s a chilly wind whipping up as I open the front door, and although it’s still afternoon, the sky’s filled with dark clouds.
A few icy cold drops of rain splash my cheek as I lift out our crates of groceries and Bridget’s tiny backpack with all her things.
She’ll have more as she needs it. Clothes, furniture. Whatever she wants or needs. And she’s the perfect reason for me to take the time off I’ll need to get this place finished.
Ready for the young, future family I can almost hear, tearing around inside the old place.
I’m struggling to see a ‘romantic dinner’ in the making when I’m pulling the crates onto the kitchen bench, but it’s alright. I’m sure Bridget is as much into grilled steaks and potato salad as much as I am.
The kitchen, bathroom, and main bedroom are really all that’s finished in the house.
Outside, I’ve built a deck with an iron roof covering the natural hot spring—one of the many that dot the property that wasn’t filled in.
They used to use the thermal spring water to heat the house as well as have an endless supply of hot water back in the day.
Another reason to love this place.
“Instant Jacuzzi,” I smile to myself, as if I am looking at the house with fresh eyes for a change.
Really seeing its potential now that I have someone to share it with.
I unpack the white tablecloth and fresh flowers I got. It’s starting to look like a pretty amateur attempt at a homemade romantic evening. Not that we need any encouragement. I’m sure Bridget would be just as happy between the sheets, us with nothing but each other to feed on.
That’s dessert. However, there’s always a gallon or three of ice cream in the refrigerator if she wants sweet instead of savory after dinner.
Resting the candles on the marble countertop, I catch one as it rolls off.
Then a second, and then another.
What the fuck?
Telling myself to stay calm, I pick them up, noticing the labels as if it’s the first time I’ve ever seen them.
‘Floating Candles…’ Why the fuck would anyone want…?
My eyes drift to the deck area outside.
The steaming, natural spring water is bubbling silently—a silent fork of lightning flashes over a tree-lined hilltop.
My smile returns as I suddenly feel more pleased with my efforts so far.