Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
He pulls out a small black duffle and digs in an outside pocket. Holding up a driver’s license to show me the picture and name, he says, “Cole Harrington. You?”
I confirm the picture is him and then offer, “Janey Williams.”
“Janey,” he echoes. One side of his mouth tilts up in the slightest hint of a smile. It makes him look boyish and mischievous, something I sincerely doubt he’d appreciate being told. His whole vibe is serious business in the front, no party in the back.
“Are you here to kill anyone or anything?” I ask bluntly, thinking I might as well get the Question of the Day out of the way.
His blond brows jump up his forehead. “What? No.”
He sounds appropriately shocked at the question and not at all murder-y. Probably.
“I’m a photographer. I left my camera in a hide so I didn’t have to haul it.” He’s smart, answering my next question before I could ask it, but if I’d listed the top ten things Cole Harrington does for a living, photography wouldn’t have remotely been in consideration.
He’s answered my questions, and I’m not seeing any obvious red flags, so I feel eighty-five percent good about my decision to agree to this idea, which is enough for me. “If you’re paying for my vacation, the least I can do is let you sleep here. But I want private hot tub time. I have plans for those jets.”
I point out the back window toward the currently cold and quiet tub. At the sharp look he gives me, I belatedly realize how sketchy that sounds. Whoops.
“No! I mean, for my back. I had to move Mrs. Michaelson to change her bedding before I left, and we were short-staffed. I’m a nurse, and we’re always short-staffed . . . it’s an industry-wide problem.” I wave a hand dismissively because there’s nothing I can do about that. “So I had to do it alone. Mrs. Michaelson is a tiny woman, but she’s frail so you have to be extremely careful. And ooh, my back’s been aching ever since. I want to sit in the hot tub with a jet aimed at this knot right here.” I rub at a spot on my lower back.
Cole blinks . . . and blinks again, looking at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language. “I have no idea what you just said, but you can have full access to the hot tub.”
Some sort of deal agreed upon, I hold my hand out. “Good. Nice to meet you, Cole.”
He shakes my hand with the slightest chuckle. “I sincerely doubt that’s true, but thanks for the polite lie.” His palm is a little rough, not callused like he does hard labor, but also not soft and doughy like he’s never worked a day. He releases me and picks up the duffel bag from the floor. “Mind if I shower?”
“Yeah, no. That’s fine,” I say as I move out of his way, though I wasn’t in his way to begin with. “I was gonna make dinner. You hungry? I brought groceries and have plenty. I don’t mind sharing. Do you like chicken? Or I bought soup. I could heat that up for us and toast some bread. Unless you’re vegetarian? If that’s the case, all I can offer is a baked potato because I bought those to go with steaks one night for Henry and me. But you don’t strike me as the vegetarian type.”
Cole is looking at me strangely again, and I realize that I’m rambling.
“Sorry, I talk a lot. Always have. Henry calls me out on it, always wants me to ‘shut up for a single fucking minute’.” I throw my voice to mimic his annoyance. I continue in my own voice. “But it’s hard to keep my thoughts in my head. I talk to patients, like Mrs. Michaelson.” I drop her name like they’re old friends already. “All day, so it feels natural to provide some narrative to the passing of time, you know? But it’s a bad habit, so . . . sorry.”
“Dinner would be great. I’m not vegetarian.”
He disappears down the hall, and a moment later, the bathroom door closes. I hear the click of the lock, which makes me pause. He’s locking me out? Like I’m the probably-not-a-murderer in all black.
Laughing under my breath, I go to the kitchen and start pulling out food. I decide to heat up the soup, but if Cole’s been outside all day, which seems to be the case, he probably needs more than a light dinner, so instead of the plain bread I’d planned, I toast the bread with cheese and turkey, making stovetop paninis. I only burn one of them a little bit, and they smell pretty damn good if I say so myself, making me rather impressed with my off the cuff creativity.