Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
“Where did you come from?” he asks from left field, his voice so deep and resonant, it should be singing an old hymn from the back row of a church.
“What?”
He gives a brief, exasperated headshake, obviously directed at himself. “I know everyone in this town, but I don’t know you. One day”—he nods at the counter—“you were just standing there.”
“Why don’t you start by asking me my name?” I tease gently.
Careful, that came close to flirting.
And obviously, this man has not been the recipient of many flirtatious advances. He’s looking at me like maybe he misheard me, though his giant chest is dipping and rising faster than before. “What is it? Please. If you don’t mind me asking.”
No mean streak in this guy, unless he hides it very well. “I’m Evie,” I say, extending my hand across the counter for a shake. “Evie Crowe.”
He studies my hand as he takes it in his astronomically larger one. A polar bear holding a candy cane. “Luke Ward.”
I’m caught quite off guard by the sensation of work-roughened hands and the friction they create on my soft palms. What would they feel like taking tight hold of my butt, rocking me up and back? Lord, I’ve been lonely for so long, I’d settle for him scratching behind my ears. I’d probably thump my leg like a cocker spaniel.
“It’s nice to formally meet you, Luke.”
“Evie,” he says, testing the word. Humming afterward. He’s still holding my hand, but I don’t think he realizes it. “Like I said, I don’t want a fuss.”
“Zero fuss, I swear. But I’d have to take your measurements.”
“Oh. No.” Finally, he releases my hand and begins walking backward toward the entrance, those ears fire-engine red again. “No, I don’t think so.”
“It’s very straightforward. I’d only need a minute.”
“Maybe if some bigger jeans come in, you could just set them aside for me.”
“I don’t foresee that happening, Luke. You’re . . .” I flap a hand around to indicate him. “You’re one of a kind.”
“I’m always thinking the same thing about you.”
That gusting confession lands like a piano on a sidewalk, though the crash doesn’t make a sound. He’s not making a pass at me. I don’t think he meant to say it at all. For some strange reason, that makes his words all the more effective. Truthful. I’m shivering beneath my shirtdress, and oh God, my eyes feel ever so slightly damp? Kindness hits me really hard these days, even if his words do go beyond simple benevolence.
I think he . . . likes me. That was his way of letting me know.
“Thank you,” I manage, not sure what to say or do next.
My son takes that indecision out of my hands when he starts to cry from inside the Pack ’n Play where he’s sleeping in the rear office.
Luke’s eyes widen as if to ask Is that yours?
I lift my chin in confirmation.
His expression darkens, and he’s out the door before Sonny’s next wail.
“Apparently, drifter–single mothers aren’t his type,” I murmur to my son a minute later while cradling him in my arms, walking him back and forth in front of the register to calm him. “His loss, isn’t it, kid?”
I refuse to acknowledge how much Luke’s reaction has let me down.
Silly. So silly. I only learned his name ten minutes ago.
And I don’t want to date. I can’t. I don’t know any babysitters, and couldn’t afford one if I did. Still . . .
“You know what, Sonny? Screw the measurements. I’m going to make him the best pair of jeans in his life. He’s not going to dismiss me so easily.”
Chapter Two
Luke
My mug of coffee pauses halfway to my mouth.
What in the hell?
It’s her. Evie Crowe.
How did she find out where I live? As soon as I begin to wonder, I mentally scoff at myself. Finding out where the skyscraper-size farmer dwells wouldn’t be difficult. Any number of town residents could have told her. Whatever method she used to get my address, she’s coming up the pathway to my house now with a baby strapped to her chest and a brown bag dangling from a couple of her fingers. Let me tell you, it’s a sight. Something’s got her a little mad this morning, but not mad enough to step on the chickens in her path. No, even through the window, I can hear her apologizing to them as she closes the distance to my door, and that makes me feel some kind of way.
Not sure what the feeling is called yet.
Only that she’s the only one who seems to give it to me.
A married woman. Of course I told a married woman she’s one of a kind. I’m surprised her husband hasn’t shown up with a shotgun yet to put a bullet in me. I wouldn’t even blame him. If she was my wife, I’d put the fear of God into anyone who showed her interest. Especially out loud, like I did.