Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“Umm.” I run my hands that are suddenly sweaty down the front of my shorts when Tide looks at me. “I don’t know if you ate, but if you haven’t, I cooked, and there’s enough if you want some.”
“I thought I’d have to go in there and steal a plate after you disappear upstairs,” he says, walking toward me. “It smells good.”
“Thanks.” I fiddle with the bottom of my shirt then turn for the kitchen with him on my heels. “Do you like Thai food?”
“I haven’t had it,” he tells me as I grab another paper plate from the cabinet and hand him one.
“Sorry, this is all I have, since my stuff isn’t supposed to be here for a couple of days.”
“Are you trying to make me feel bad?” he asks, and I pause with a spatula full of noodles, veggies, and chicken above the plate in my hand then watch him shrug. “I’ve been living in my place for a couple of years and still use paper plates. Then again, I hate washing dishes.”
“You’re a man. I’m pretty sure it’s ingrained in your DNA to do anything and everything to avoid cleaning of any sort.”
“Touché.” He grins, and I laugh then take his plate and pile it high with food, because judging by his size, he eats a lot. Once I hand it to him, I give him a plastic fork then grab two bottles of water from the fridge, giving him one.
“So we have two options for where we can eat—either the steps of the porch or on the floor anywhere in the house.”
“The porch works for me,” he says, and I move toward the front door, shove my bottle of water under my arm, and open the door. When we get outside, I take a seat on the top step of the porch and rest my plate against my knees, setting my water next to my hip.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Tide says, taking a seat next to me.
“It is,” I agree, wondering if I will ever get used to living someplace as beautiful as this. With the setting sun sparkling through the leaves of the trees, casting shadows on the ground below, it makes it look like the set of a fantasy novel described by an author. Like at any moment a knight on a white horse could ride up the lane, kicking up dust as fairies drop out of the trees, warning of impending doom. Shaking my head, I wipe away those fantastical thoughts. “I knew when I saw this property that I had to have it. Then I saw inside the house and had second thoughts.”
“Your house is solid. It just needs to be updated a little, but you chose well.”
“Thanks.” I swirl some noodles around my fork and take a bite. Even though it’s a dish I’ve made pretty often over the years, I haven’t had it in a while, so I groan in approval when my taste buds light up.
“Damn, this is good,” Tide says, and I turn to smile at him. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a while.”
“Except this isn’t a home-cooked meal. This is a bag of stir-fry veggies, a box of rice noodles, chicken, and a bottle of Thai sauce.”
“It didn’t come from a drive-thru, so for me, that means it’s a home-cooked meal.”
I don’t mean to do it, but I honestly can’t help but check him out. He’s not thin by any means. He’s thick and solid, with bulky muscles that proclaim he takes care of himself but that he still drinks beer and likes to eat. Standing or sitting next to him, I feel petite, and it makes me feel more feminine in an odd sort of way.
“I can give you the list of what to buy from the store, and you can make it sometime. It’s really easy to toss together.”
“The only time I take the time to cook is when I have my daughter, and she’s pretty picky.”
“How old is she?”
“She’s four almost five.”
“That’s a fun age,” I tell him quietly. My ex’s sister has two boys, and when we got together, one was four and the other was just about to turn six. Some of my favorite memories were when we would take them for the weekend. Even if I was exhausted after they went home, I always enjoyed having them around.
“How old is your kid?”
“What?”
“You’re kid how old is he or she?”
“I don’t have any kids,” I tell him with a frown, wondering why he thinks I do.
“You said you take care of someone. I thought that meant you had a kid.”
Warmth floods my cheeks as I realize how he could have misconstrued what I said and look away from him, dropping my eyes to my plate. “I don’t have any kids. My ex-husband worked for me, and during our marriage, I took care of him. So when we got divorced, he asked for alimony.”