Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
We’re talking…a mammoth-sized spider.
One child cried that it was scary and the other was hysterical because he didn’t want it squashed. Their high-pitched voices bounced off the tiled floors and high ceilings. The decibel level was so high, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the windows cracked.
Needless to say, it was painful…until Scott saved the day.
He captured the spider on a piece of paper and banished it outdoors, crouching low to console the kids. Then he let them choose their favorite biscuits and slipped the treats into personalized bags. And he didn’t just write their names on the outside of a white paper bag either. He drew flowers and trees and ladybugs.
It was so…sweet.
Joanne breathed a theatrical sigh of relief when they’d left. She made sure Scott was out of earshot, adding, “If I was ten years younger and not happily married, I’d be tempted by that one. A man who’s good with children is a fine catch.”
Right.
Incident #2: Scott picked me up at the station, so I wouldn’t have to walk into town in the middle of a wicked winter storm.
He’d shrugged off my thanks with a cool, “No worries,” but it was thoughtful. And…he never once mentioned fairy cakes. Not in code or in passing.
Hmm.
And today…he took me on a date.
Okay, maybe it was more of a series of pleasant events rather than an actual date, but it turned into something more.
We’d discussed tying literature that specifically mentioned local historic sites into his spring campaign. I’d quoted something poignant yet whimsical from Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey, which she’d written while living in Bath, and braced for a snarky comeback when Scott crossed his arms and furrowed his brow.
“Have you been?” he asked after a moment.
“Where?”
Scott quirked a half smile. “To see where the town’s famous author lived.”
“No, I haven’t really had time to explore the area, but—”
“Get your coat. I’ll take you on a tour.”
And he did.
We walked by the Abbey and took the scenic route along the riverside before crossing the Pulteney Bridge. Our arms brushed when we made room for other pedestrians on the narrow sidewalks, pausing occasionally to critique various bakery window displays.
We took selfies—at my insistence—in front of Jane Austen’s former house at 4 Sydney Place, then crossed the street to the Holburne Museum where scenes from Bridgerton were filmed.
One second, I was explaining my favorite parts of the series, and the next, we were inside the manor, touring a Henry VIII exhibit. We studied collections of old chinaware and portraits of people we’d never heard of as if they were the most interesting things in the world. I couldn’t speak for Scott, but I wished the rooms were the kind that magically got longer and longer, ’cause I never wanted to leave.
Afterward, he bought teas to go in the café and suggested strolling through the park behind the manor.
Scott.
Not me.
Scott.
He probably had no idea how romantic this was—a beautiful setting, a handsome man, a cup of warm tea on a cold winter day…
Of course, all the yummy feelings made me nervous, which made me chattier than usual.
“Do you ever wonder what it was like to grow up in the eighteenth century? All the magnificent clothes and opulent balls,” I gushed, plopping next to him on a wooden bench under an ancient tree with haunting bare branches that stretched like skeletal bones overhead. “I bet it was amazing.”
“I bet it sucked,” Scott countered. “It gets fuckin’ cold here in winter. And don’t get me started on the rain.”
“You grew up in Seattle. You’re used to cold and rain.”
“I’m also used to running water, central heat, and AC too.” He sipped his tea and sniffed. “Scratch that. We didn’t have air conditioning in our house when we were kids. My sister and I ran through sprinklers and ate popsicles to stay cool.”
“I did that too.”
“What was it like growing up at a winery?”
I smiled wanly. “It was…quiet. There weren’t many kids my age around, so I read a lot. My mother worried about me spending too much time on my own. I think she resented my dad for being absent. According to her, he was always in the vineyard, never home. When he was home, they fought, so…that really wasn’t much better.”
“How old were you when they divorced?”
I cocked my head thoughtfully. “Nine.”
“That’s tough.”
“Yeah, it was very…sad. I was old enough to know they were both unhappy and naïve enough to think I could have done something to fix them.”
He set a comforting hand on my knee. “That’s a lot of pressure for a kid.”
“I know, right? My parents are good people. They’re just better apart. You’re lucky yours love each other. You’re lucky you have a sibling too.” I raised my to-go cup to my mouth and lowered it abruptly. “What is she like?”
“Who?”
“Your s-sister. It sounds like you’re close.”