Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“I have an idea and we’d better do it soon. I am so fucking sick of sitting around this house.”
Timeo took his eyes off his phone long enough to give me a sharp look. “Excuse me?”
“What?”
“Who gave you permission to swear, that’s what.”
I scoffed. “No one gave me permission.” I tossed my head and looked away, because I wasn’t sure how to handle the feelings that look gave me. “No one needs to give me permission for anything.”
It wasn’t true, but I liked to tell myself that.
Timeo cocked an eyebrow at me. “Oh, really? Interesting. If no one needs to give you permission, why were you talking in a whisper?”
“Maybe I like to have some privacy.”
I hated that Sergio kept me under close watch, and Eden encouraged him. I had a cell phone they could easily track, a team of bodyguards, and even my online activity was monitored.
“It isn’t that we don’t trust you,” Eden would explain. “It’s for your own safety. Your own protection.”
I glared at Timeo, prompting him to give me a crooked smile that made my heart and body do unfamiliar but delicious things. I drew in a deep breath, hoping the heat didn’t spread to my cheeks, showing him how I really felt.
“So are you going to tell me your idea or what?”
I bit my lip, because what if he thought it was a childish idea?
“I…want to take a hike and roast marshmallows. I found marshmallows in the pantry, and there are sticks in the woods… I know how to build a fire, and I just thought maybe…. Okay so it sounded like fun.”
He stared at me, his brows drawing together. Before he answered, he took another huge, albeit contemplative, bite of his sub.
“You want to roast marshmallows. Over a fire.”
I swallowed and nodded. “Yup. I’ve never had them before, and they sound so good.”
Timeo grinned. “You’ve never had roasted marshmallows before?”
I shook my head. “Of course not. They didn’t believe in refined sugar or anything resembling fun in that awful place.”
“Just when I thought I couldn’t hate them any more—”
I blew out an impatient breath. “Timeo. Can you take me or not?”
“Of course I can, pushy.” He looked out the window behind me. “Grab a coat, it’s cold out.”
I opened my mouth to wise off to him again, then thought better of it when I considered he might threaten not to come after all.
The wind bit through my clothing as we traipsed through the woods. The Castle was nestled in the uppermost part of Cape Anne, surrounded by water on three sides. The fourth side gave way to a paved road lined with evergreens, my favorite place to take a walk because it felt like entering a new world.
“Goddamn matches,” Timeo said, crouched on the ground in front of the small clearing we made in the earth. “Could’ve used a fucking fire pit instead of this, you know.”
“I don’t happen to have any fire pits on hand. You?”
He only continued to grumble as he tried fruitlessly to light kindling beneath the pile of twigs and branches. Finally, the smallest flicker of flame took hold, turning the dry pieces of kindling a smoldering shade of orange-red.
“You know I used to build fires when I was younger so we could cook…”
It seemed being raised in a legit cult, complete with a separatist mentality to rival Quakers, had a few – a very few – advantages.
“Jesus,” he mumbled under his breath. “Sometimes I forget you were practically raised as a pioneer. Go ahead. Give it a go. Wood’s wet, I think—”
The wood wasn’t wet, he was trying to build a fire without giving the fire itself any oxygen, a necessary component to any fire building.
“Just build a sort of chimney,” I explained, moving things around. “So the oxygen encourages the flames.” I poked the fire with a stick. “There!”
Flames leapt to life.
“Good,” he said with an impressed look. I was quite pleased myself. “Now do you know how to roast a marshmallow?”
“I told you I’ve never done it before, show-off.”
Minutes later, we sat on logs, bundled in scarves and coats, roasting our marshmallows.
“Ah! It’s on fire!”
Mine was burnt to a crisp — not intentionally — but his was a perfect golden brown.
“I didn’t know it would catch fire so quickly,” I muttered, staring helplessly at the charred remains of my marshmallow.
Timeo snorted, but the next minute handed me his stick. “Here. Take this. I’ll roast another.”
“No, I can’t —”
“Take it.” He shoved the roasting stick into my hands. “Your first taste of roasted marshmallow shouldn’t be a burnt offering.”
I reached for it, eager to taste it.
Our fingers brushed. I noticed how rough his were, calloused and warm, but most of all I noticed the way I reacted when he touched me. My pulse raced, heat skated across my skin, and a strange, warm sensation built low in my belly.