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)
“Yes, we are.” He grabs my seat belt and pulls it loose, then leans in, buckling it in place.
“Roman, the rain is going to stop soon. We can wait somewhere until then and save the vouchers I have for a hotel until we—”
“Quiet, Elora.” He steps back and slams the door shut before I can get more out.
Glaring at him, I watch him through the windshield as he walks around to the driver’s door and slides in behind the wheel. I continue glaring at him as he picks up his phone. Not that he notices.
“Did you seriously tell me to be quiet?” I ask when he drops his phone into the cupholder once again.
“Yep.” He glances at me while placing his hand on the back of my seat before turning fully to look out the rear window so he can reverse out of the spot we’re in.
“You told me ‘quiet,’ like I’m a child?”
He focuses on me. “Elora, I’m not going to argue with you about getting the wipers fixed.” His hand moves from the headrest to the back of my neck. “That’s not something even up for discussion.”
“Not up for discussion,” I whisper-hiss, looking into his eyes that have fascinated me since the moment we met.
“Are you in this car?”
“Yes,” I snap.
“Then I’m going to make it as safe as I can without pushing it off a cliff and replacing it completely.”
“I think I’m done talking to you for the day,” I mumble, and he grins, giving my neck a squeeze before letting his hand fall away.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I focus my attention out the passenger side window while he puts the shifter in drive and pulls out of the parking lot.
After about ten minutes, he parks in front of what can only be described as a Victorian mansion. The outside is painted a pretty pastel pink with lacy white gingerbread trim, huge bay windows, and an elegant turret.
“What’s this?” I ask, all thoughts of the silent treatment I planned on giving him leaving my head in an instant.
“Where we’re staying.” He gets out while I stare at the house through the windshield.
“Roman, we can’t stay here,” I tell him when he opens my door a moment later.
“It’s just for the night while they fix the wipers on the van.”
“I don’t have a voucher for this place.”
“It’s fine, and when I was looking online, this is the only thing that came up with rooms available.”
“Probably because all the guests have been scared away by the ghosts who live here.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts, Elora.” He leans around me and unhooks my seat belt.
“Says every person before a malevolent spirit attacks them,” I murmur, looking over his shoulder at the house that must be over a hundred years old and is for sure haunted. Not even the pink paint can hide that.
“Come on. I want to get the van back to the shop so they can start working on it.”
“If I die—”
“Don’t—” His hand strikes out, wrapping around my jaw so fast my breath catches in the back of my throat. His grip on my jaw doesn’t hurt, but it’s firm and unyielding. “—ever joke about that, Elora.”
“Okay,” I breathe, resting my hand against his chest, where I feel his heart thundering against my palm. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right. Just…” He shakes his head. “Just don’t say shit like that.”
“I won’t again,” I promise, and his fingers loosen on my jaw as his eyes scan my face.
Moving my palm from where it’s resting over his heart, I slide my arms around him and press the side of my head against his chest while his hand falls away.
After a moment, he curls me against his chest and rests his chin on top of my head. I close my eyes. It was careless of me to joke about dying, but I had no idea he’d have that strong of a reaction. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Our connection is tangled up with loss, and even if we didn’t know each other prior to experiencing the kind of pain that comes from losing someone you care about, we’ve come to depend on each other. Or at least I know I’ve come to depend on him. If he were to say something similar, I’m not sure how I would react.
Would I feel it like a physical blow?
My heart clenches at the thought, telling me I would.
After a couple of minutes, his lips touch the crown of my head, and he steps back and helps me slide out of my seat. Standing on the sidewalk, I watch him open the back door and unload our luggage.
“Here, you take this one.” He pulls out the handle of his suitcase, which rolls smoothly across the uneven pavement. I take it while he lifts my two bags off the ground since the wheels on both are now almost totally useless.