Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Sitting in the waiting area of the auto shop we stopped at to have my oil changed, I watch Roman—who is now wearing his baseball cap backward—talk to the woman at the counter. The poor woman is probably ten years older than me and hasn’t stopped blushing since he approached her. She looks ready to swoon from his attention. I don’t blame her. Between the tattoos, the ball cap, the snug black tee he’s wearing, shorts, and sneakers, he’s a lot to take in.
For his part, he looks oblivious. I don’t think he realizes his effect on the female population. That, or he’s so used to the reaction he gets from women, it’s just normal to him.
Taking a sip of my free coffee, I ball up the plastic wrapper of the honey bun I ate that was also free and get up to toss it in the trash. When I’m done, I walk toward the counter. I couldn’t hear what the two of them were talking about from where I was sitting, not with the TV on above me and the sound of machines working in the background. But now I’m close enough to hear Roman ask if she can have the guys who took my van back ten minutes ago check my tires.
“The tires are new. The guys don’t have to check them,” I say, and two heads turn in my direction. I smile at the woman, feeling Roman’s gaze on me, but I don’t look at him.
“Babe.” That’s new. He’s never called me “babe” before, and I’m not sure I like it now, with his tone hinting at annoyance.
“My tires are fine,” I repeat, looking up at him.
“It doesn’t hurt to check,” the woman says, and I glance at her, but her eyes are on Roman like she’s seeking some kind of approval for agreeing with him.
“Thanks,” I grit out, forcing a smile. “But all I need is an oil change today.”
“Elora.”
“About how much longer?” I ask her.
“I’d say fifteen minutes or so,” she says quietly, and I nod, then walk off toward the waiting area.
Roman doesn’t follow, and when I sit down and glance in their direction, with one look, I know he just ignored everything I said and is having her tell them to check the tires anyway.
I sigh, then pull out my phone when it rings. Seeing it’s Kandi calling, I answer.
“Hey, Kandi. How’s it going?”
“Great. Actually, spectacular. You have an offer on your property.”
“What?” My limbs tingle.
“And even better, it’s at full asking with our new price update, zero contingencies, and all cash.”
“Really?”
“Really. I confirmed everything with the real estate agent this morning, and they want to close in the next few weeks,” she says, and I drop my eyes to my lap.
I should be happy, or at least relieved that I won’t have to worry about the bills hanging over my head anymore, but all I feel curling around my insides is dread. Like my mom’s passing, I knew that selling the property would eventually happen, but I never thought about the sense of loss I’d feel, knowing I wouldn’t ever be able to go back home again.
“Elora?” Kandi calls, and I come out of my head.
“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “I’m still here.” I lift my head and meet Roman’s gaze as he squats in front of me, resting his large palms on the tops of my thighs. His tattooed skin looks darker against my bare legs.
“Who is it?” he asks quietly.
“Kandi,” I whisper, and his eyes fill with understanding.
“I know this has all come as a surprise. I can send over the contract and give you a few hours to get back to me after you go over it.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I tell her softly.
“All right, I’m emailing you the contract now.”
“Thank you, Kandi. I’ll call you soon.” I hang up after hearing her say goodbye.
“You got an offer?” he asks, his eyes roaming over my face, and I nod.
“Come here.” He stands and pulls me up, wrapping his arms around me.
“I should be happy,” I say into his shirt as he palms the back of my head.
“It’s okay that you’re not.”
“I hope that whoever is buying it has kids and that they are as happy there as I was growing up.”
He doesn’t respond with words, but I feel his lips at the top of my hair. Taking his hand off the back of my head, he moves it down to my neck, then around to my jaw. Tipping my head back, he scans my eyes, then lets out a deep breath. He leans in and presses his lips against my forehead, holding them there.
My nose stings. There is something unmistakably huge about the simple gesture of affection from him.
Only I don’t know that “something” is that Roman Dante King has never shown affection to anyone, not when he was little, and definitely not since he became the man he is now.