Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I get up on one of the barstools, pulling out my food and the plastic silverware they gave me, and take a bite of my sandwich before looking down at Loki, whose eyes are glued to my hand. “Here you go, boy,” I murmur, giving him the other half of my sandwich. He takes it, not even bothering to really chew. He just kinda swallows the whole thing before going over to his dog bed next to the fireplace, groaning in happiness as he lies down. Opening my soup, I take a few bites of it before putting the lid back on. I’m stuffed, and now I’m completely out of energy to do anything more than clean up my mess and plant myself on the couch, which I do.
“Gia.”
Hearing my name, I blink my eyes open, not remembering falling asleep. I wipe my mouth, because I’m sure I was drooling, and sit up. I look at Colton then look at the bags he has with him, familiar bags—bags that were under the bed in my room at Grandma’s. “You got my stuff. How?”
“Tide and I went in through the window on the back side of the house,” he explains, taking a seat next to me on the couch and sitting forward to pet Loki when he wanders over. “Your Jeep’s out front. I found your purse and key in your room. I also got everything from your dresser and some stuff from the bathroom in the hall. I didn’t search the rest of the house for more of your stuff, but I figured we could get all of it when the fire chief gives you access to the house.”
“You broke into my grandma’s house to get my stuff?” I look at my bags, thinking that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.
“Don’t cry, Dimples,” he whispers, while tears fill my eyes, making it hard to see.
“I’m not,” I lie, as a sob climbs up the back of my throat that I can’t control, and before I can tell him I’m okay, he has me in his arms with my face tucked into his neck.
“Let it out. I’ve got you,” he says gently, and all of the stress, worry, and sadness I have been feeling and holding on to for the past few weeks boils over. I cry harder than I have cried in a long time, so hard that it’s impossible to catch my breath, so hard that I don’t know if I will be able to stop. So hard, I end up crying myself to sleep in his arms.
Waking up the next morning in my room, I lie in bed forever looking at the trees out the window, trying to build up the courage to go out and face Colton. I can’t believe he had to carry me to bed after I cried all over him last night. Even if he didn’t tell me to stop, I know no man wants a woman they hardly know crying their heart out in their lap. Knowing I’m going to have to face him sooner or later, I throw back the covers and get out of bed, wishing I had a pair of thick socks to wear since the wood floors are freezing cold.
I go over to the bathroom, take care of business, and rinse out my mouth with water, since I need to dig through my stuff that’s probably still in the living room, to find my toothbrush or toothpaste. Once I’m done, I go to the door and open it an inch, just enough that I can peek out. I can’t see much from where I’m standing, but I can see that Colton isn’t in the kitchen. Opening the door the rest of the way, I step out, almost falling on my face when I trip over Loki, who is lying in front of my door.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I ask him, giving him a rubdown when he stands on all fours and his tail starts to whip back and forth. “Come on,” I call, heading through the living room to the kitchen. The whole house is quiet, but it smells like coffee, so Colton had to have woken up at some point and at least made a pot this morning. After finding the coffee cups, I pour myself a mug, adding creamer and sugar that are sitting on the counter, before heading for the door. As soon as I open it, Loki runs past me to Colton who is sitting in one of the rocking chairs, wearing a pair of sweats and a dark blue thermal with his shoe-covered feet up on the rail. His hair is damp, like he just had a shower.
“Morning,” he says when my eyes make their way up to his.
“Morning.” I take a seat next to him, lifting my feet up to the wooden rail. “Thanks for last night. I—”