Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“We can have it now if that works for you? The date.”
“Now’s perfect timing,” I confirmed. “My schedule is wide open.”
“Let me just change.”
I kissed her forehead. “I’ll wait.”
Forever and beyond, if need be.
She squinted at me. “Last time, you timed me.”
“Last time, I was an asshole.”
She giggled, stars in her eyes. Stars I’d put there. “And what are you now?”
Now, I’m in love.
I understood now why men would go to drastic lengths to claim a woman. Why the Achaeans invaded Troy for Helen. Or, in my case, why I paraded through a provincial, coma-inducing small town for Dallas of Chapel Falls.
Shortbread beamed, bouncing with each step as she commandeered our date.
Our first destination: the public library.
“This is where I had my first date with Mr. Darcy.” She swooned over a chipped wooden bench by the cafeteria. “And this is where I had my first kiss—with Lars Sheffield, my high school’s quarterback.”
“Pity you mentioned him by name.” I laced my fingers through hers. “Now I have to kill him.”
She giggled. “Want to play a game?”
Naturally, my first instinct was to say no. “Sure.”
“I used to play it with Frankie all the time when we were kids. We write general topics—mammals, seasons, flowers, whatever—on slips of papers, fold each, toss them into a hat, and shake, drawing one subject at random. The first one to find five books in the theme wins.”
“Wins what?”
She wiggled her brows.
Ah. There was certainly a leap of logic in the reward system, since the loser and winner would both benefit from paying the price, but I saw little point in bringing it to her attention.
Shortbread jotted down a few subjects, landed a ball cap from a random stranger, and selected a subject.
Fruit.
She squealed. “This one’s good. I’ve never had it before.”
We ventured in search of fruit-themed covers and titles. I had to admit the game wasn’t completely stupid.
I picked Apples Don’t Fall, The Grapes of Wrath, and Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café. Tomatoes were a fruit like any other. And yes, that was my hill to die on.
Speaking of fruit, I became increasingly hungry. I hadn’t eaten prior to the plane ride here, too preoccupied to notice my hunger.
“Got it,” Shortbread announced in the middle of the library with no regard for her volume, the stack of books cradled in her arms concealing her face.
An old librarian shushed her. Dallas didn’t even notice as she hurried to me, showing off her finds.
“The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper?” I glared at her. “That’s a vegetable.”
“But it’s as sweet as a fruit.”
“That is a very loose interpretation of fruit. By that logic, vodka is a type of bread, since both contain grains.”
My stomach rumbled. We needed to stop talking about food.
“Well, maybe it is a type of bread.” Dallas wrapped her arms around my shoulders, joy plastered all over her pretty face. “Anyway, I win.”
“Great. Let’s go grab a bite and check into a hotel where we can pretend I’m a stranger you picked up at a bar.” I needed to make up for the fact that she would never be with another man, because there was no way I was letting her go.
“Oh, do we have to?” Dallas’s face fell. “I wanted you to see my favorite lake. I wrote a poem about it, and it was published in the local newspaper.”
I hadn’t eaten in ten hours.
Not a big deal, I reminded myself. You’re a grown man. You can go without.
“Let’s do that, then.” I pressed a hot kiss to her jaw. “And then, I’d like you to read the poem for me.”
She lit up. “Really?”
“Naked.”
She swatted my shoulder. “Pig.”
Great. Now all I could think about was bacon.
Off we went to her favorite lake, where we rested against her favorite oak tree, and Shortbread did her most favorite thing in the world—talked about food she wanted to try and where she would try it. Japan, Thailand, India, and Italy topped her list.
An hour passed, then another.
My stomach began to physically hurt.
“We need to get going, sweetheart.” I stood, offering Dallas my hand. If I didn’t eat soon, I might commit capital murder.
She rose to her feet, her face clouded. “Do you regret coming here for our date?”
“No.” I frowned. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you’ve wanted to go ever since we started it.”
I felt like a childish idiot. “I’m just a little hungry, that’s all.”
She laced her arm through mine. “Okay, let’s go eat, then.”
Unfortunately, Chapel Falls’s residents were as incompetent as they were judgmental. The first three restaurants we tried downtown did not have any availability.
The fourth had temporarily shut down due to remodeling. By the time we nestled into a sticky booth at a small, unremarkable diner, I shook with hunger.
I ordered a burger and Diet Coke. Shortbread requested pancakes. She tried to engage me in conversation, while I pretended to pay genuine attention.