Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Eric glances over his shoulder toward his fellow employees, then leans forward. “How about a cake pop? On the house.”
I blink. “Oh. Well. Sure. Do I look depressed or something?”
He grins. “Nah. Just sort of felt like offering.”
“Well, thanks. I feel like accepting.”
I’m taking the free treat when something occurs to me. “Hey, would you call this a knight-in-shining-armor situation?”
He tilts his head. “Sorry?”
“Nothing, never mind.” I shake my head.
Eric is handsome, in a cute-but-way-too-young-for-me kind of way. He’s also not a stranger.
Sorry, horoscope. I tried.
A couple of minutes later, I walk out of Starbucks with latte in hand. It’s started to rain, which I hadn’t counted on. I don’t have an umbrella or a hood, but I do have good crosswalk luck, and am able to cross Lafayette without having to stand in the rain. And as I approach Broadway, the light is again in my favor.
I’m just stepping into the crosswalk when I hear the blare of a car horn from way too close, and I turn my head to see a taxi barreling through a red light without slowing down. It’s hurtling toward me faster than I can move, but the same second I realize I’m about to get hit, I’m pulled backward with so much force my latte splatters to the ground.
“Hey! What an asshole!” a pedestrian yells.
I’m inclined to agree, but my heart’s beating too hard at the near catastrophe.
“You okay?” a male voice asks from directly behind me.
I turn toward him and realize two things at once: he must have been the one to pull me out of harm’s way, and he’s… perfect.
I’ve always liked to say that I don’t have a type, but I’ve been horribly wrong about that, or maybe I simply had to see my type to recognize it.
You know that strange sense you have when someone seems just made for you? Like they were created to check all your boxes?
This is him.
Tall without towering, strong without being brawny. His blue eyes are friendly, his face handsome if not quite symmetrical. His hair is not quite blond, but not brown, either. His smile is perfect and crooked and just a tiny bit shy.
And maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I swear he’s looking at me with that same dazed it’s you that I’m feeling right now.
Just to be safe, I sneak a peek at his left finger, and my heart leaps to find it bare.
When my eyes return to his face, his gaze takes just a moment to snap back to mine, and somehow I just know that he’s done the same analysis of my left hand.
“You okay?” he asks again, dipping just slightly to bring his eyes more level with mine, as though needing to reassure himself.
“Yeah! Yep. Good. Very good. Yep.”
So eloquent, Miranda.
I’ve never been particularly adept at flirting, but usually I can hold my own in conversation and manage sentences longer than two words.
“Thank you,” I say, trying to sound more normal. “For… well, obvious reasons.” I wave at the intersection.
He shakes his head, disgusted. “It’s a miracle nobody was hurt. He could have killed someone.”
“Thankfully the only casualty was one tall, triple-shot vanilla oat milk latte,” I say as I bend down to pick up my now-empty cup and throw it away in a nearby trash can.
“I…” He hesitates. “Can I buy you another one?”
My heart leaps in joy, then sinks to my feet when I realize that I don’t have time for a second trip to Starbucks. “I wish. But I have a class starting in just a couple minutes that I’m likely to be late to.”
“Ah. Grad student?”
“Professor. Physics. Astronomy, specifically,” I blurt out.
“Oh. You’re kidding.” He lets out a startled laugh. “My daughter is completely obsessed with anything related to the night sky.”
Daughter.
Woof.
I mean, not that I don’t love kids, but a daughter obviously has a mother, which means…
I smile, trying to keep the disappointment off my face.
“I don’t suppose you do private tutoring?” he asks with a grin. “It would kill my ex to know I found Kylee an astronomy tutor before she did.”
Devastation makes a sharp reversal back to delight.
“I don’t currently,” I admit. “But I’ve always wanted to.”
So, this is a blatant lie. I have never in my life thought about private tutoring. But as far as lies go, this one isn’t going to keep me up at night, because I’m also not opposed to tutoring.
Especially daughters of really cute single dads.
“Amazing,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his suit. “Here’s my card. If you’re not just being polite because I very dashingly saved you from a horrible death, text me. Email. Call.”
I accept the card, obviously. Christian Hughes.
“ ‘CFO of OmniLogic Solutions,’ ” I read aloud. The company name seems vaguely familiar—they make computer chips, or some something like that. “Impressive.”
“Impressive enough to get your name?” he asks hopefully. Charmingly.