Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
He comes back a minute later and changes out my thick comforter for a lighter blanket. He jokingly tucks me in, burrito style, lifting my whole body with surprising ease as he slides the blanket under me. I grin up at him and he smiles back. It’s an oddly sweet exchange, but I try to write it off as the flirtations of a seasoned playboy and nothing more.
I close my eyes and let myself doze while the scents of toasting bread, butter, and tomatoes starts to fill the cabin.
The first half of the week at Taste goes smoother than I would expect. Mostly, it’s because Nolan is still on overdrive, as if my period has turned me into a temporary invalid. He explained enough about his childhood and his mom that I mostly just let him baby me. It really does seem like he actually enjoys being able to take care of me–and I’m not going to lie and pretend I hate having my every need and whim taken care of by him.
He’s there for every minute of my shifts. He alternates between trying to do things that will make my life easier, like whisking off my dirty pans when I’m not looking or prepping ingredients I’ll need when I’ve fallen behind. When he’s not being practical, he’s looming and glaring at Zander, as if he needs to be a constant reminder that I’m off-limits.
To Zander’s credit, it seems like he may have picked up on the way his innocent interactions were triggering Nolan. He has been much less touchy and has done a better job of staying out of my personal space this week. I just wonder if he’s unconsciously picking up on the annoyance of a boss, or if he’s suspecting Nolan has laid some kind of claim over me. A few times, I almost bring it up to him and ask to clear the air, but I can never think of a way to ask that doesn’t seem self-important or accusatory.
Nolan’s watching over me from a kind of distance, more like a guardian angel than the kind of guy who lays claim to a woman because he expects things from her. All he seems to expect is that I’m comfortable and taken care of, which is ironic, considering the way our interactions started when he showed up at the cabin.
But his words on Sunday still stick with me. He wanted to make me like the other girls. He wanted it to be easier, and he thought reducing me to a plaything would do the trick. Sure, I could be offended by that. Instead, I see the truth in it, because it’s sort of what I was doing with him.
I was thinking of Nolan as a hopeless manwhore. The kind of guy who is emotionally unavailable and has the relationship depth of a kiddie pool. But time and time again, he keeps showing me that was all a front he was putting up.
The thing I don’t know is why? Was it because of our breakup, or was it something else entirely?
It’s Thursday and nearing the end of my shift at Taste. Paisley is helping me with some end-of-shift prep for tomorrow and we’re casually chatting as we roll pastries that will set overnight in the fridge.
“People are loving the food,” she says. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a messy bun and there’s a smeared line of white flour across the side of her nose. “I mean, I don’t know if I’m exactly surprised. Like, the food here is freaking awesome. I guess I just never got to feel like this, you know?”
I know exactly what she means, so I nod enthusiastically. “It’s like we’re at the start of something,” I say.
“Yes!” she says, whisper yelling and leaning in. “I used to help my grandpa at his pizza shop all the time when I was a kid. Eventually, I thought how amazing it would be to start something like he did–to be able to look back years and years down the line and say I was there at the beginning.” Paisley bites her lip and shrugs. “It kind of feels like that’s starting here, you know?”
I nod. “It does.”
“What made you want to cook?” she asks suddenly.
“Oh,” I say, taken a little off guard by the question. “I actually only got into it kind of by mistake. My friend, Caroline, told me she started a cooking club in Frosty Harbor a couple years ago. I guess some people had asked her if she’d organize it, so she finally agreed. But all of them ended up making excuses when the time finally came. She begged me if I’d sign up to help it be less of a failure.”
“That sounds fun,” Paisley says.
“Yeah, well, it turned out only one other person signed up.” I lean closer, lowering my voice. “Nolan Saulters.”