Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Let’s just go buy a comfortable couch if it’s that important to you, and I’ll sleep on it,” I tell him, but then stop talking altogether when we pull down a street with kids outside playing on sidewalks and front laws, and families talking and visiting with their neighbors. Spotting a for sale sign in one of the yards, I feel a smile on my face for the first time in hours. The two-story terracotta stone house with curved windows and doors, and a wooden shingle roof, looks like something out of a fairy tale and is my dream home.
“You like that house?”
Looking from the house to Sven, a feeling of disappointment hits me as we drive past it. “It’s a cute house,” I murmur, looking over my shoulder one more time as he turns onto another road then another until we’re pulling up in front of a house that looks like all the others we have seen today.
Completely atrocious.
“Wait here.” Getting out of the car, he walks toward Don, who is standing on the front porch. They talk for a brief moment before Sven walks back toward me.
“What’s going on?” I ask when he gets in behind the wheel.
“We’re skipping this one,” he mutters, looking over his shoulder to the street behind us.
“Bummer,” I say sarcastically, watching as his lips twitch as he backs out of the driveway. Looking out the window, I realize we are heading back toward the neighborhood we drove through earlier, and when we pull into the driveway of the terracotta house, I sit up a little taller in my seat.
“You like this house?” he asks, surprised, looking at the house in front of us. It’s not a mansion, but it is a really beautiful house in the perfect little neighborhood. The kind of house I wish I had grown up in.
“Some people strive for normal,” I say, getting out of the car and walking through the thick grass in the front yard then up to the large bay window, where I put my hands to the glass and press my forehead close so I can see inside.
“Mags, you don’t need to peep through the window. We’re going to go inside,” Sven says, and I feel his warmth at my back and his fingers curve around my waist.
“You want to view this house?” I ask doubtfully.
Ignoring my question, he pulls me from the window and leads me toward the front of the house, where Don is unlocking the box attached to the door handle. Pushing the door open, he motions for us to go inside. The moment I step into the foyer, I’m in awe. It’s beautiful, with high ceilings and natural light. To the left is a large library, and the right, a sunken living room with comfortable couches that make you want to kick off your shoes, grab a book, and hang out awhile. The kitchen is in the back of the house, with a long island, and a breakfast nook that is surrounded by windows. Upstairs are five bedrooms, including a master with a walk-in closet and a bathroom bigger than my bedroom at home, plus a bonus room the pervious owners set up like a theater.
“You’d be happy in a house like this, wouldn’t you?” Sven asks, and his eyes go from where he’s looking outside to sweeping over me as he shakes his head. “Most women want bigger, Mags, and then there’s you.”
“I don’t want to be like most women,” I tell him, feeling like I need to defend myself.
“I know,” he says quietly, stepping away from the window and coming to stand in front of me. “I fucking hate these bruises.” He whispers running his eyes over them before meeting my gaze again. Looking into his eyes, my body leans into his as his fingers wrap around my jaw and his lips touch my forehead in a spot that I’ve decided is his. Closing my eyes, I only open them back up when I hear his voice in the distance yell, “Come on, Mags. We have a house to buy.”
“What’s happening to me?” I ask the empty room, but gaining no answer from it, I follow him down to the first floor, where the realtor is waiting.
Wrapping his arm around my waist as soon as I reach his side, he tells Don, “We’ll take it.”
“Are you sure? This is kind of small.” Don frowns looking around.
I have no idea in what world five-thousand square feet is small, but the way he’s looking at me and Sven gives me the impression he really believed this house was far too small for anyone to live in.
“How long until we can close?” Sven asks, ignoring Don’s comment and pulling me closer to him as I struggle with his fingers, attempting to remove them from my waist.