Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
In the corner was a small antique writing desk with an oil lamp sitting on it. I smiled as I walked over to it. I ran my finger along the glass and smiled as I thought about the oil lamp my grandmother used to have on her writing desk. This lamp was a beautiful piece, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a family heirloom. Just like that, however, I was reminded that my father broke my grandmother’s lamp one night when he was angry with my mother.
I sighed and turned away from the desk. What must that be like to have things like this passed down through families. I chewed on my lower lip. I wouldn’t know. The only thing I had ever gotten was a small inheritance from my grandmother that I was going to use for the dog park. Unfortunately, my mother fell on hard times, and I had to use the money to get her mortgage payments caught up. My father came from a poor family who made their living either farming or mining. My father had left home when he was fourteen because his father was abusive. The apple hadn’t fallen far. I closed my eyes and forced myself not to go down that road. It had taken me years to learn to drown out what that man had done to me.
Turning, I saw the clothes Nate had put out for me: a Montana State T-shirt, black sweatpants, and an oversized sweatshirt with the Shaw Ranch logo. I picked up the sweatshirt and brought it up to my nose, taking in a deep breath as the smell of Nate filled my senses.
“Stop it, Haven,” I said, dropping it back to the bed. I was glad he brought the sweatshirt since I also put my bra in the dryer. After slipping on the T-shirt and the sweats, which I had to tie super tight to keep them from falling off, I put the sweatshirt on. He had even put a pair of wool socks out for me. I put them on and headed back into the bathroom. I towel-dried my hair and then glanced around for a blow dryer. I found one in a cabinet and was able to dry my hair. My curls would be out of control since I had no product or hair straightener in it, but it would have to do. I had long ago stopped trying to impress Nate Shaw. He wasn’t interested in me, and I would do good to remember that.
I opened the guest bedroom door and walked down the hall. To my right was a door leading outside. I walked past it and into the family room and abruptly stopped. Two things had my mouth hanging open.
One was the insanely beautiful room with rustic wood planks adorning the walls and the large beams on the ceiling.
Two, Nate stood in black sweatpants and a blue T-shirt, and his feet were bare of shoes or socks.
He’s barefoot. In sweats. Looking hot as hell.
“Oh, God,” I whispered under my breath. Why am I being punished this way? Why?
I walked farther into the room and stopped again when I saw Nate walk over to the wood pile.
“Holy. Shit.”
Nate looked up from where he was building a fire in the fireplace that I hadn’t even noticed. The back side of the room had floor-to-ceiling windows with sliding doors that led out back. A large sectional sofa faced the fire in the middle of the room. Above the fire was a large TV screen. When I turned to my left, I slowly shook my head. A rustic bar made from more large timbers of wood and a stunning black granite counter stood. Behind it were more cabinets, a lighter color than the rest of the cabinets in the house. They held different types of liquor. There was a sink, and as I walked closer, I asked, “Is that draft beer?”
Nate laughed. “Yeah. A request from my cousins when we were designing this area.”
Turning, I looked at a room made of three sides of glass that held wine inside of it. The wall with all of the wine had a black rod system that held all of the wine. It looked like it was made of reclaimed wood.
I looked at Nate. “This room should be in a magazine.”
He winked. “It was. Rose has a friend who works for an architecture firm in Boise, and he designed this whole room, and it was featured in some architecture magazine. They were here for days staging it and taking pictures.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. Do you like wine?”
Nate shrugged. “I can drink it, but it’s not my go-to. That is.” He pointed to the draft beer, and I laughed. This easy conversation between us wasn’t normal, but I liked it. The intimacy of it. Maybe a little more than I should.