Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Hit me with it.”
“What if I decided that I absolutely hate college football?”
That one makes me pause. Sarah knows how much I love football, especially college ball.
But I shrug a shoulder. “As long as I still get to watch it, I can live with that unhealthy and unwise decision.”
She snorts and then presses her lips to mine. She smells fresh and faintly of citrus with something spicy, like cinnamon.
“Feel better?” I ask softly.
“Much better.” She goes in for a second kiss. “Thanks.”
“If you don’t mind, I thought we could have an early dinner out here on the deck, and then we can just snack later. I bought a bunch of stuff. We can even watch a romantic movie if you want.”
“I was hoping for action,” she says with a sorrowful sigh. “But if you have your heart set on romantic, I can deal with that.”
I nip at her chin and then set her away from me and walk to the kitchen. “We’ll watch whatever you want.”
“What’s for dinner?” She leans on the counter and then lifts her nose in the air and sniffs. “Are there brownies in the house?”
“Yep. They’re for later. Dinner is hoagie sandwiches, and yes, I’ll add potato chips to yours, which I still think is the weirdest thing I’ve ever witnessed, but hey, I’m not here to judge.”
“People eat chips with their sandwich,” she says reasonably and hops up onto the counter, swinging her legs back and forth. “Why not in it? It all tastes the same and goes to the same place.”
“It’s just not the order of things.” I shake my head as I slice the bread in half and then turn to her. “What do you want on it?”
“Pastrami.”
I blink at her. “I have ham or turkey.”
She giggles and reaches out to tousle my hair. “I know, I was kidding. Turkey’s great. Cheese is a given.”
She lists off her favorite ingredients, and I get to work building her sandwich. When I set it in front of her, she grins and then smashes it down, effectively crumbling all the chips.
“Yum,” she says after taking a huge bite. “Thanks. I’m going out on the deck.”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
After putting the finishing touches on my own sandwich, I follow her outside and sit across from her.
“You put your chips on the side,” she observes.
“Like normal people,” I agree, making her smirk. “I like seeing you happier than you were yesterday.”
“Yeah, well, me too. I’d had a shitty few days, that’s all. Work stuff, mostly, but after a nice dance on the beach with the sexiest man ever, and a conversation with Luna last night, I felt a lot better. Today was a good day. I had a coworker try to pull one over on me, and I totally stuck up for myself. It felt good. She’s pissed, but she’ll get over it. Or she won’t, but I don’t really care.”
“Good for you.”
She reaches over and plucks a chip off my plate, then pops it into her mouth.
“How are you?” Her face is suddenly serious.
“I’m great.”
“No, how are you? Not small-talk stuff. I’ve been so consumed by my own issues, I haven’t checked in on you, and that’s pretty shitty of me.”
“I really am fine,” I reply and reach across the table for her hand. “In fact, I haven’t been this great in a long damn time. You don’t need to worry about me. Also, I have some good news for you.”
“I love good news! Tell me.”
“Well, I have a client who comes in a couple of times a year. She’s an excellent customer and is an art lover. She doesn’t just buy for herself, but also for others as gifts.”
“I like her already.”
“Well, she asked me if I had any new watercolor work. Of course, I immediately thought of you. I explained to her that I didn’t have anything at the gallery, but that I’m very close with a talented artist who works mainly with watercolors. She’d like to see your work. She’ll likely buy several pieces. No rush, of course.”
Her mouth opens and closes, and then she sets what remains of her sandwich down and frowns at me.
“Why did you do that?”
The lump in my belly forms. The one that always does when it feels like I’ve done something wrong where Sarah’s concerned.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Why would you do that? I told you the other day that I’m not ready to sell my art in a gallery, and then you go behind my back and offer it up to the first person who comes sniffing along?”
“Whoa.” I hold my hands up and shake my head. “You’re overreacting.”
“I am not.” Sarah pushes her fingers through her still-damp hair in agitation. “This puts a lot of pressure on me.”
“It puts zero pressure on you.”