Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
He frowns, one of those scowls that makes my heart do a somersault. He reaches for one of the takeout trays, and hands me one as well.
“My father raised me to have manners. Always said a gentleman never goes out of style.”
I smile. “I like that.” And it’s bloody true.
He reaches his hand out to take mine. “Name’s Mac. And you?”
I smile back. “Bryn.”
His blue, blue eyes look more vivid when set off against the stark blackness of his hair, his eyes framed in long, long lashes. The look in his eyes makes me squirm in the very best possible way. When he grins, he’s got a dimple in his left cheek.
Swoon.
I try to get myself together. I face the salad bar just for something to do and grab the tongs. I begin to nestle chopped greens in the bottom of my bowl.
“Try the chicken,” he says, as he takes his place on the other side of me. “They grill it themselves, right here on the premises. It’s excellent.”
I wince. “Thanks, but I’m a vegetarian.”
He winces. “No meat?”
I smirk at him. “Only on days that end in BRYN.” I place sliced peppers and chickpeas atop the bed of lettuce, loving the vivid rainbow on my plate. Next, I sprinkle on feta and olives, as Mac piles his plate high with the grilled chicken. There’s so much chicken on the plate I can’t see any greens, which for some reason I find amusing.
“The alfalfa sprouts and baby kale are also excellent,” I say with a wink.
He winces like I just struck him. “And I thought I was doing well with the veggies alongside my buffalo chicken.”
I look at his plate, where he’s got three celery stalks beside a mammoth pile of blue cheese dressing.
“Seems your wee celery stalks might drown, though, no?”
He rolls his eyes and flexes his muscles. “Protein fuels the muscles.”
Something is definitely fueling his muscles.
I’m not immune to the power of seduction, especially when those baby blues are twinkling at me that way. God, his arms are as big as my thighs.
A girl could get wrapped up in arms like that and feel safe.
“Well, that’s why they call it a salad bar, though,” I say with a wink. “You can have whatever it is you like, and I can have whatever it is I like.”
He nods sagely. “Aye. I’ll have what bloody tastes good, and you can have the rabbit food.”
I snicker at that and slide my plate up onto the scale by the counter to pay.
“Anything else, miss?”
“Aye, I’ll have the daily smoothie as well, and one of the energy bites, please.”
Freshly squeezed juice and brightly colored smoothies are nestled into a tub of ice by the register, alongside little containers of raw energy bites. They make them right here on the premises with raw nuts, honey, and little carob bits.
The cashier nods. “Absolutely, miss. Thank you. Will that be for here or takeaway?” She rings me up, and I pay for lunch.
I hesitate. I was planning on taking this with me back to the shop so I could finish my work, but I hesitate. Mac’s checked out, heading to the drink line where he can fill his cup from the variety of drinks. On a whim, I change my mind.
“Here, please.”
He intrigues me. I find a vacant table to the far left, beside an open window, and slide my tray onto the table. Normally, I place my bag on the seat opposite me, so nobody sits down with me, or even near me. That is, if I even take the time to eat inside, instead of eating back at the shop. But this time, I put my bag on the seat beside me, leaving the seat across from me vacant.
I don't know Mac from Adam, and I'm not sure why I want to. Men have only caused me heartache, in one form or another. But still…
I look at my lunch, as I open up the little cello-wrapped fork. But the whole time, I’m casting surreptitious glances toward Mac. Will he come and join me? Should I invite him? I take a sip of my smoothie, trying to figure out what I'm going to do.
I may give the illusion of being confident, but I'm actually woefully self-conscious. I second-guess everything I say and do, and always have. Nothing I did growing up was quite right. Still isn’t. And I suppose that can mess with a girl’s head.
I try to play it cool. I look at my phone, pretending to check social media. I fork a bite of salad, and take a large bite, washing it down with sips of smoothie. I start to feel a little more awake, now that I’m actually eating something.
I look back up toward the drinks, curious what's taking Mac so long.
My heart sinks. He’s gone.