Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26677 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26677 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Instead, I focus on the sun as it warms my form, and then smile. It’s time to go inside before I get sunstroke, and I know the baby will appreciate some cool lemonade. Awkwardly, I manage to get to my feet, my bump making me sway like an off-kilter ship, and with a quiet huff, I rest my hands on my knees for a moment, just trying to breathe.
“You’ve made me as ungainly as an elephant,” I joke to the child within. He or she seems to hear, and my belly ripples a bit as he kicks in agreement.
But then, goosebumps rise on my arms, and a prickle tickles the back of my neck. What was that? I turn quickly, blinking in the bright sunlight while peering around the garden. Is it the housekeeper? My mom? Did someone stop by for a visit?
But no one appears, and I look around, perplexed. I could swear that someone was here, even if they’re not showing themselves. Suddenly, the tingle comes again, and I realize what it is. Someone’s watching me from afar. I’ve always been able to tell when I’m getting the eye because I have a sixth sense for this sort of thing, and sure enough, my gaze darts to the big house. Is my unseen observer inside? But who could it be? The housekeeper? Someone from the staff? Even Mr. Richards himself?
But then I scold myself because Mason Richards is a busy CEO who has a ton on his plate. He doesn’t have time to be watching women garden in his backyard, and come to think of it, he’s probably not even home right now. Guys like that travel all the time, and when they’re not traveling, they’re at the office making millions. He wouldn’t be wasting his time staring at some strange woman in his yard. Hell, I look like the help with my grubby hands and dirt-stained housedress.
But still…
My eyes drift to the mansion again, and just when I’m about to give up, there’s the twitch of a curtain from one of the upper levels. Then, I catch sight of a dark figure right before it turns away, disappearing from the window. Who was that?
My heart accelerates because it definitely wasn’t the housekeeper. Mrs. Portia is about five two and stout, whereas the figure in the window was tall with broad shoulders. He looked to be wearing a dark suit as well, although I could be wrong. Could it be Mr. Richards? But butlers and footmen wear suits too, right?
Again, I force myself to think critically. Do people even have butlers and footmen these days? It sounds like something out of Bridgerton or some other Regency romance. Yet a frisson runs through my figure, and somehow, I know that it was Mr. Richards. How long was he standing there? And why was he watching me, anyways? Does he have an interest in horticulture?
But once again, I slam the lid on my curiosity because it’s not going to get me anywhere. This is my mom’s boyfriend, for Christ's sake, and she hasn’t even introduced me to him. It’s been a month since I moved in, but Mason Richards has been curiously elusive.
Either way, it’s none of my business, and with a sigh, I pick up my gardening basket and begin making my way back toward the cottage. It would be nice to meet the man of the house at some point, but obviously, Mr. Richards has other priorities besides a young pregnant woman who’s taken up residence at his estate.
2
CHELSEA
The interior of the cottage is blessedly cool, and I place the basket on the kitchen table to be handled later. Right now, I just need to get some lemonade, and with a sigh of relief, there’s a huge pitcher in the fridge. After pouring myself a glass, I settle on the couch and look around while wiping sweat from my brow.
Elsa’s done a good job decorating her home. The inside of the cottage is small but comfortable, with colorful curtains, a chintz sofa, and a throw pillow embroidered “It’s Always Five O’Clock Somewhere.” My bedroom is the smaller one of the two, but I don’t mind because I’m a guest, after all. Besides, I’ve made it comfy with a fluffy white duvet on the full-size mattress, some cheery potted plants, and three cloud lamps dangling from the ceiling. It’s a peaceful, private space, perfect for me as I wait for my baby to arrive.
But right, the baby. They need some dinner, and so I hurry to the shared bathroom for a shower. Tonight, we’re going to have my special mac n’ cheese, but I need to get on it before my mom returns from work. Quickly, I lather myself and then rinse, before stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around my curvy form. Then, I hurry into my room and pull on comfy sweats because the air conditioner is almost always running in the cottage. The cool air is nice when I slip under my fluffy duvet to sleep, but not so great when I’ve got wet hair from a shower.