Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
‘Safe as houses,’ Molly says. ‘Has been for years.’ Turning toward me, she moves in closer so I can hear her speak at a normal volume over the painful sounds of Mrs Hatt. Her eyes are dancing. ‘A little birdie told me that a certain local was in your shop,’ she says.
Oh. Now, it should be easy to guess which certain local Molly is speaking of, since he is one of the only people in town who has ventured into my shop, but I still find myself playing dumb. And who is this little birdie? I stare at Molly as she stares at me, waiting for my counter. I don’t have one, or I’m not prepared to feed her curiosity, since there’s nothing to be curious about.
‘Oh, come on, Hannah.’
I sigh and take more wine, feeling a lovely numb fuzz taking hold. ‘You must be talking about Ryan.’
‘No, no, no.’ Molly shakes her head and raises her finger, and my eyes fall to it, following it from side to side like a pendulum. ‘I’m talking about Ryan all-hot-and-outdoorsy-and-without-doubt-an-incredible-lay Willis.’
‘Oh, that’s his full name? I did wonder.’ I roll my eyes and break out in laughter when Molly snorts and wine sprays from her nostrils. ‘Oh God,’ I choke, slamming my glass down to snatch a tissue from my pocket.
‘Don’t be all blasé with me,’ she says as she pats at her face. ‘What was he doing in there?’
‘Collecting his daughter,’ I say casually. ‘She’d wandered in and we got sidetracked with some accidental painting.’ The frown that pops up onto Molly’s head prompts me to go on. ‘Accidental painting. It’s when—’
‘Sod accidental painting. Tell me more.’
‘There’s nothing to tell.’ No friction. No playful banter. No meltdown when the poor man said something quite innocent. ‘Really, nothing to tell,’ I reiterate when Molly gives me a dubious look. ‘Really.’
‘Fine.’
‘What’s the deal with him, anyway?’ God damn my motor mouth. I scowl to myself and sip.
‘Ryan Willis.’ She sighs. ‘I think he was a spy or something.’
‘MI5,’ I say without thought. And scowl again, this time at Molly when she points high, interested eyebrows my way. I shrug.
‘Nothing to tell,’ she muses. ‘Except you’ve clearly had a nice little get-to-know-you chat with him.’
‘It was brief,’ I say quietly, turning away from her as Mrs Hatt takes a bow. I can feel my new friend’s eyes drilling holes into me, and such a huge part of me wants to indulge her curiosity. Like girls do. Like I would have with Pippa. On that thought . . . ‘We had an . . . encounter.’
Molly’s instantly intrigued, moving closer still, even though the dulcet tones of Mrs Hatt have ceased. ‘Hannah, please, put a woman out of her misery.’
‘It’s your fault, anyway,’ I mumble, finishing off another glass and immediately topping it up.
‘I take full responsibility. Now tell me how it’s my fault.’
Staring at my glass, I think for a few moments. And think. This is what my sister would have done. Prodded and prodded me until I gave in and fed her need for information. Maybe it’s the drink, or maybe it’s just the natural need of a woman wanting to share. After all, having a true girlfriend is alien to me. I should utilize the only one I have. Lucky Molly. Or maybe it’s because I miss my sister and our never-ending chats and banter.
I face Molly and shuffle in closer. ‘I met him a few nights ago when he ran me off my bike on the lane that leads to his cabin.’
‘What were you doing on that lane? Wait, he ran you over?’ Her eyes drop to my legs. ‘Is that how you got—’
‘Yes. And I was on that road looking for your cottage to deliver the paint. Which ended up spilled all over me. That’s why I was late delivering it. I had to make it all over again.’ Oh my God, it feels so good to talk. To share. To blurt all this out and feel the weight lifting from my shoulders.
‘Shit,’ Molly says. ‘It really is all my fault. But, God, what a dick for running you over.’
‘He didn’t mean to. And actually, he was very sorry.’ I take a deep breath and jump in feetfirst. ‘He almost kissed me.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘I know.’
‘But almost?’
‘I stopped it.’
Her outrage is obvious, and probably warranted. ‘Seriously, why?’
That I can’t share. ‘I don’t know. I was caught off guard. Surprised. Anyway, that was that, and then his daughter came in the shop. We talked a bit more, and we almost kissed again.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘I know.’
‘But almost, again?’
‘His daughter interrupted us.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’
I nod my agreement, and wonder for the first time if I would have bailed on him again had his daughter not got in first. I want to say no. I was adamant at the time that I wouldn’t. I want to think I would have kissed the daylights out of him, would have been the best kiss he’d ever had. I also want to think it would have been the best kiss I’d ever had. One that would have wiped away all previous kisses. One that would have consumed me so much, there would be no room left for anything other than that feeling. ‘More wine?’ I hold up the bottle on a lazy grin.