Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
In my defense, this Aidan Hughes, the one in real life, is a lot more than the one on screen. Bigger. More rugged. More intense. Where’s the dude who posted a video of himself getting a pedicure with black polish on Instagram? Because this is not it.
“Hi there. Can I help you?” I call out from a few feet away, my voice hitting a strange high note.
Lord have mercy, I need to get ahold of myself with both hands.
He’s in the process of climbing the steps to the farmhouse and turns, finding me what feels like a thousand miles below him. He looks older in person. Salt peppers his short, rich brown hair along his ears. Laugh lines are conspicuously absent even though suntan lines crisscross his forehead.
“Blue Baldwin?” he says, stepping back down.
No proffered hand. No smile. We’re dispensing with all the good stuff I guess. The next three months are gonna be lit.
I nod, my smile stiff. “Hi. Aidan Hughes, right? I wasn’t expecting you todaaay––”
He removes his aviators and hits me with a set of dark brown eyes, not the bright baby blues he gets paid millions to narrow at villains and hot chicks alike on screen.
“Wrong Hughes. I’m Shane. Aidan’s brother.”
“Oh,” is the best I can do because I’m being held hostage by a very intense stare down. And when I say intense, I mean his thousand-yard stare has mass and intent.
I suddenly feel seen and that’s the last thing I want to be. I’m not typically a shy or nervous person. In fact, I haven’t been that person since turning fourteen. And yet I somehow find myself regressing by the second into the person I was in junior high. I’m living a scene out of 13 Going On 30. Only in reverse.
“I wanted to make sure everything’s ready before Aidan arrives tomorrow,” he explains. At least I think that’s what he said. I’m currently experiencing a crisis of confidence, and nobody is more surprised by this than myself.
“I’m sorry?” I mumble. My skin keeps flashing hot and cold. What the actual fornicating heck is happening?
“The alcohol…” he annunciates as if speaking to a child. “Has it been removed from the property?”
“Oh, there’s no alcohol here. It’s just me and Mona and we don’t drink.” As I’m speaking, it dawns on me that I just told this large and rather imposing person who I do not know whatsoever that there are only two women living on the property.
I just exposed us to stranger danger.
“What about the handyman?”
He’s got me on my heels again. I told the lawyers a little white lie about Dexter living on the property. Dex is the handyman who comes to help me with chores that require two people. Like repairing and replacing the fence, among other things. The Dexter lie was my lame attempt at a human shield. And now, I’ve gone and cocked that up.
“Dexter, yeah… he’s a devout Mormon. So… you know… he’s very devout about not drinking.”
I’m fairly certain Dexter is not Mormon. Lying on the fly is clearly not my strong suit. Hughes doesn’t look nearly as convinced as he should be and more doubt creeps in, bringing with it some of the anxiety I haven’t felt in years.
“Anyway,” I continue, “we run a tight ship around here. No alcohol. No sleepovers…” The more I speak, the more my confidence crumbles under the heavy weight of his scrutiny. Grabbing the rim of my straw hat, I pull it down to defend myself from the onslaught of his unblinking stare. “And you should know that I own a gun and I know how to use it.”
Except I don’t own a gun. And I don’t know how to use one. Much to the chagrin of my father, an officer of the law.
“Good for you.” He glances around, seemingly unaffected by my strange behavior. “Try not to shoot anyone while we’re here.”
“Who’s we?” At this point, I’m not taking anything for granted. We agreed on housing the other Hughes brother––the criminal one––and one assistant. That’s it.
“My brother travels with a team… I’m the team.”
The good news is that his attitude shakes my confidence right out of its downward spiral. The bad news is that my mouth hasn’t caught up yet. “Uh… I’m sorry, but we don’t have room for you.”
“No problem. I’ll bring my trailer.”
“Unfortunately, our electrical system can’t handle two trailers.” Which is entirely true. I shrug, sweetening the bad news with a smile.
“I’m staying here,” he states after a meaningful pause. “It’s in the contract.” I’m subjected to more intense eyeballing. “Did you read it?”
No, I did not read the contract in my nonexistent spare time. All I know about the contract is the long list of requests they made. Some of which were off the charts laughable. Like his brother’s request that we feed him an all-organic diet. If Aidan Hughes ever ate my cooking, he’d go to bed gripping a bottle of Imodium and crying for his mommy. Organic would be the least of his concerns.