Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
"Hell no," he growls, his eyes my favorite shade of midnight. "I sleep where you sleep."
A thousand-pound weight falls off my shoulders. I smile up at him. "Okay."
Ten minutes later, I'm wandering aimlessly down aisles in the store, looking at things that have no meaning to me. Most of the products aren't even in packages. They're in big bins and containers, stacked and piled and tossed hundreds deep. Screws and washers and hundreds of other bits and pieces of metal that I've never seen before now.
This is not my type of store. But Caleb seems right at home here. I left him discussing pipe with the owner.
I round a corner, and my shoe catches on the edge of a shelf. I trip, arms flailing wildly. I grasp at the air for anything to hold onto, only to knock into a bin of screws. It tips sideways.
Dozens of silver bits of metal spill across the floor.
"Oh no!" I cry.
"Sutton!" Caleb's heavy steps thump against the concrete floor as he comes running down the aisle looking for me.
He finds me on the floor, frantically pushing screws into a mini mountain.
"Sunshine," he breathes, kneeling beside me.
"I tripped," I mutter by way of explanation. He's more than used to the fact that I'm a walking disaster by now. He's seen me in action, starting with me cracking my head on the door the day we met.
"Are you okay, baby?"
"I'm fine." I grimace at the older gentleman and middle-aged woman who followed Caleb. They're both watching me. "I'm sorry about the mess."
"Hell, girl, don't even worry about it, " the old man says, waving me off. "I've knocked the damn thing over a few times myself." The old man's eyes are faded blue, clouded with age, but they still glimmer with mischief as he winks at me. "Just don't tell Darla. She may make me quit drinking."
I laugh quietly…until I realize the woman—Darla—is still staring at me. She isn't looking at me like someone annoyed that I just made a mess, either. She's looking at me like someone staring at a ghost.
Crap.
I start shoving screws in the bin as fast as I can, my heart pounding with anxiety.
"I'll have Jordan load up the pipes for you," the old man says.
"Thanks. We'll finish cleaning this up."
"Come on, Darla. Let's go find that son of ours."
"But I…" Darla's brows furrow. "But she's…"
I send her a pleading look, silently begging her not to say it. I need her to give me this, though she owes me nothing.
She catches the pleading look and snaps her mouth closed, allowing her husband to lead her away.
I exhale a relieved breath.
"Do you know who that is?" she hisses to her husband when they're nearly out of earshot. "It's Sutton Reynolds!"
I tense, on edge all over again.
Caleb hears her too. And for the first time, I realize that he knows far more about me than I thought he did. Because he doesn't seem surprised by the comment in the least. He simply cups my cheek.
"Why don't you go wait in the truck, Sunshine? You won't attract attention out there."
I bob my head in a nod, lurching to my feet. My whole body feels numb as I stumble outside to the truck.
He knows. How does he know?
More importantly, why hasn't he said anything?
Maybe because you didn't, a little voice whispers.
As soon as he emerges from the store, he jogs to the passenger side of the truck, pulling the door open to check on me. His strong arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me into a comforting embrace.
"Are you okay, Sunshine?" he asks, his voice a deep rumble against my ear.
"Yes. No." I choke out, my voice trembling as I pull back to face him. My hands shake with fear and regret as I try to gauge how much damage I've caused. "How long have you known, Caleb?"
"I've been putting the pieces together for a few days."
"Do you know…do you know who I am?" I lick my lips, my pulse hammering in my ears.
He studies me for a moment, his expression inscrutable before he answers. "No, but I can guess."
I bite my lip, struggling to hold back the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.
"You don't have to tell me anything, Sunshine," he insists, slipping his hand into mine as if to offer comfort. "Not until you're ready."
"I want to tell you," I whisper, my gaze drifting from his. "I'm just…I'm just a coward." I laugh without humor. "I've gotten used to being normal for once. Maybe it's selfish of me, but I'm not ready to give it up. I guess I'm afraid you'll look at me differently."
"Hey." His rough hand curves around my jaw, tilting my head back until my gaze tangles with his again. "I don't give a fuck if you're the Pope, Sunshine. It isn't going to change the way I feel about you. You're my heart."