Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
When Weaver pulls up behind the café—the better for us to sneak away without being seen together—I hug Maya and Elaina, track down the lint roller to tidy up my dress, and dash out to the car, suitcase in one hand and a sugar cookie in the other.
“Wow.” Weaver’s lips part as he takes in the sexy black dress I found at the resale shop, my borrowed jacket, and shiny high heels. “You look…”
“Like I don’t work on a lobster boat?” I ask with a laugh, the heat in his gaze assuring me the outfit is as “fire” as Elaina promised me it was.
I needed to bring the fire tonight. Weaver looks even more striking than usual in a dark gray three-piece suit with a silver shirt that brings out the steely color in his eyes. His dark hair is brushed back, showcasing the salt and pepper at his temples that I love, and he smells as divine as ever as he pulls me close.
“Like you’ve never been close to one.” He bends, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll have to beat the other men off you with a stick.”
Shivering at the feel of his breath warm on my neck and his lips so close to my ear that they kiss my skin as he speaks, I say, “Nah, I’m tough, I can beat them off myself.” Then I realize how that sounded and add as he laughs, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
He grins—that big, easy smile I’ve only ever seen when we’re alone, the one that makes him even sexier—and winks. “You’d better be. I’m not in the mood to share you with anyone, let alone other men.”
Ignoring the fizzy bubbles his words send rushing through my blood—I can’t take the romantic things he says too seriously, or I’ll really be in trouble when he leaves—I let him take my suitcase and follow him around to the back of the Subaru.
Weaver pops the trunk and slides my bag in beside his much fancier leather one in the slightly funky-smelling storage area.
Someone dumped bait on his car Wednesday night, the one night I wasn’t on his boat this week. We got lucky with that, and with no one seeing me leaving his place while they were trashing his rental, but Weaver had a hell of a time finding someone willing to detail the car.
Not only was the mess gross, but people in town seem to be taking sides between Weaver and Mark. Both auto mechanics in easy driving distance are Mark’s friends.
But a few hundred dollars over the usual detail price convinced one of them to switch loyalties, and Weaver had a security system installed on the dock with a view of both his parking spot and the yacht earlier today. The next time someone comes to deface his property, he’ll be able to see who’s behind it and take the footage to the sheriff’s department.
I would say I can’t believe people are being so petty, but trashing Rodger Tripp’s car was practically a town pastime. It got so bad in the past few years that he spent most of his time at his vacation home in South Carolina and only came to town for important meetings or family celebrations.
But Weaver isn’t Rodger, a fact he proves by smiling as I present him with his cookie. Rodger hardly ever smiled and never over something as simple as a sugar cookie decorated to look like a dragon with giant teeth.
“And what’s this?” he asks, holding it up to the light streaming from the bare bulb above the back door.
“It’s a killer imaginary friend,” I say. “That’s what our club pick was about this time. Elaina always makes cookies to match the book on Halloween and Christmas. She made extra this time to be sure I had one to share.”
His expression softens. At first, he wasn’t sure about sharing our secret with both Elaina and Maya, but he came around.
Maybe because he trusts my judgement and taste in friends.
Or maybe because he doesn’t care if we get caught as much as I do.
Yes, Weaver is a discreet person, but I’m the one whose entire family will turn against her if we’re found out. Dad’s disappointment, I could handle—it’s not like he hasn’t disappointed me more times than I can count—but I don’t want to lose the respect of my extended family, and this could literally kill Gramps.
His cholesterol is high and he’s been short of breath lately on more than one occasion. He needs to watch his diet, exercise more, and avoid flipping his lid because his granddaughter betrayed the family with a member of the evil Tripp clan.
Gramps now has multiple t-shirts he’s had specially printed to express his ire with the Tripp family at dock meetings. “Tripp Lobsters Taste Like Oppression” was the first one, but I personally prefer, “Don’t Tripp and Fail at Dinnertime. Get your lobster from a real indie fisherman!” The illustrated lobster giving a claws-up on the front is pretty darned cute, and I like the sketch of our family boat in the background.