Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Brodan reached out to cup my face and brush the salty drops with his thumbs. He bent to rest his forehead on mine. “One day you’ll believe me,” he promised before pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.
Then he was gone, walking back down the street toward Flora’s.
Leaving me there in a confused state of a million emotions.
24
Monroe
Before I knew it, it was December 1. Like every year since my early twenties, the weeks had melted into the next until another year was almost over.
Standing back from the kids and watching them rehearse, pride filled me. The musical was coming together. Callie had grown more confident over the past few weeks and was a wonderful Dorothy, with the sweetest voice. Lewis was hilariously bumbling as the Scarecrow, and one of David’s tallest pupils, Andrew, was over-the-top dastardly as the Wicked Witch.
“They’re doing great,” Brodan murmured as he stepped beside me.
I tried not to tense as his upper arm brushed my shoulder. He was so much bigger than me. Big men made me wary. Brodan did, too, just not physically. “They are,” I agreed.
Yesterday at rehearsal was my first time seeing him since he crashed brunch the weekend before. Since he’d said those heartfelt words that kept running around and around in my mind. I didn’t want them to seep into me as they had. I wanted to forget them, in fact. But every time I tried, his anguished face flashed in my mind, and my stupid, neglected, battered heart clung to his declaration.
In my need to protect myself, I hadn’t exactly been warm to him yesterday, but Brodan was immune to my aloofness. It reminded me that when Brodan Adair wanted something, he got tunnel vision. There was no one as determined as this man. That much hadn’t changed about him. The thought exhilarated as much as it frightened me. My frustration with myself and him was at explosive levels. It was another reason I was wary of being around him at school. I was afraid I’d detonate all over him one of these days, and I didn’t want witnesses.
“I have my script with me. I wondered if I could pop round to yours after school with it?”
“Just post it through the letter box,” I murmured.
“Monroe.”
At his tone, I looked up at him. He stared down at me, expression almost vulnerable. “I’m being serious about the script. It’s not a ploy. It means something to me. And I know I don’t deserve for you to care about anything that means something to me … but I want you to.”
Goddamn it!
Sighing heavily, I looked back at the class. “Fine. But only if you’ll be quiet during rehearsal.”
I actually felt his body deflate with the release of tension. “Thank you.”
Bloody hell. I was such a soft touch when it came to this man.
After class, I drove directly home, now that I didn’t have Mum to look after. The thought of her was abruptly shoved out because I still wasn’t ready to deal with my feelings. Walking around the corner to the cottage, I found Brodan’s SUV parked out front, him leaning against it. The village streetlamps had come on as the short day darkened to twilight, casting a yellow glow over Brodan. His gaze locked on mine as I approached, and he pushed off the SUV. I noted the A4-size leather envelope in his arm.
“Thanks for doing this,” he said.
“You could’ve just given it to me at school,” I grumbled as I shoved my key in the lock.
I felt his heat at my back and then his breath on my cheek as he bent his head to say softly, “You could have insisted I did.”
Goose bumps scattered down my neck and spine, and I cursed him under my breath as I pushed open the door. He was right, of course. There was no reason for me to allow him to follow me home.
Other than abject loneliness.
Rubbing the ache in my chest, I stepped aside to let Brodan into the cottage. Thankfully, the heating was on a timer, so it was nice and toasty for me coming home. Brodan wandered in, his gaze darting around the room, taking in the space.
“You haven’t changed or added anything,” he noted. “Come to think of it, where are all your books?”
Closing the front door, I bent down to pick up my mail. I left all my books behind in Glasgow long ago. “I have an e-reader.”
“What about stuff?”
“You did help pack me up,” I replied dryly as I flipped through the mail.
“So, that’s really all you have in the way of belongings?”
“It’s all I—” I cut off as I flipped to the end of my small stack of mail and found the Christmas card. I knew it was a Christmas card before I even opened it because I recognized the handwriting on the address label. My cheeks flushed as adrenaline coursed through me, my hands shaking as I flipped over the card to check for a return label.