Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 138904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
His eyes watered and he stared at her comically for a moment, before his face crumpled, and he laughed. A deep, beautiful belly laugh, the likes of which she hadn’t known him capable of.
She grinned, thrilled to be the one responsible for such a genuinely amused reaction, and vowed to make him laugh as often as she could from now on.
When his laughter petered out, he wiped his eyes, and leveled a goofy grin at her.
“Come on then, spill…favorite color?”
“Turquoise. It’s beachy, and it makes me happy.”
“I didn’t know we had to elaborate.”
“You know me, I like to overshare.”
“I like dark green because it reminds me of the woods where my dad and I used to go hiking every year when I was a kid.”
They shared another smile.
“Why did you want to know?”
“Well, I refused to believe that beige is your favorite color,” she said, with a speaking look around the living room.
“Aah. I figured it’s better to keep things neutral. This is a rental after all. Even though Brand has given me—and the other guys—carte blanche to decorate as we see fit in these apartments.”
“Carte blanche? And this is what you did with it?” She couldn’t disguise her dismay, and the remnants of that beautiful smile faded from his face.
“It’s a little boring, I know.” He sounded discomfited, and she shook her head.
“That’s not it. It’s just so impersonal, Ty. Literally anybody could be living in here.” She screwed up her face, instantly regretting her bluntness.
“It’s not impersonal,” he muttered, his eyes going to that tragic wall.
“It is, Ty. That!” She pointed at the wall. “That’s about them. It’s not about you. Where are you in here?”
His eyes were shadowed as his gaze marched around the room, bouncing from one family keepsake to the next, before coming to rest on her face again.
He parted his lips to speak, and Vicki tensed, not sure what to expect. She was somewhat deflated when all he said was, “Dinner’s ready.”
“Right.” She let it go. For now. “Can I help you set the table?”
“I’ve got it handled. You know where the restroom is, if you need to wash up.” He indicated to the door next to his bedroom door. She nodded—jumping at the excuse to absent herself from his company for a few minutes—sensing that he needed a moment alone.
Vicki was enjoying every bite of the wonderful meal. She was startled when Ty nonchalantly leaned over and speared one of the two remaining baby potatoes from her plate.
“Hey,” she protested around a mouthful of salad.
He maintained eye contact while he chewed her potato with every semblance of complete enjoyment. Her eyes fell to his plate, where he still had three little potatoes left, and she met his gaze in confusion.
“That’s the potato you would have left behind anyway. So I guess now you can clear your plate.”
Oh. What a sweet, thoughtful gesture. Vicki lowered her gaze to her plate and blinked rapidly to dispel the blurriness from her vision.
Damn him. Why did he have to be so completely irresistible?
“I’m a no-potato-left-behind kind of guy,” he added his voice tender.
Emotions firmly in check again, she met his eyes head-on with a defiant tilt of her jaw. “How do you know I wasn’t going to leave some of the salmon behind?”
“Please,” he scoffed dismissively. “You never leave the protein behind. Always rice or a vegetable.”
It was uncanny how well he knew her. How observant he had been of her habits over the last nearly sixteen months. Yes, he’d been doing his job, but she was pretty certain Chance had never noticed her weird eating habits. Or paid enough attention to her wardrobe to have favorites among her dresses. Or knew how she liked her coffee…
She smiled tremulously and nodded. “Thank you, Ty.”
He didn’t respond, but his gaze caressed as it catalogued her every facial feature.
“You’re welcome, honey.”
“Oh my God, that was divine,” Vicki rhapsodized shortly afterwards. Washing down the very last morsel of delicately flavored salmon with a sip of the chilled chardonnay Ty had claimed would pair perfectly with the fish. “You’re a fantastic cook.”
“I get by,” he said modestly, and she rolled her eyes.
“This is not just getting by, Ty. This is the second damned near perfect meal you’ve made for me. That breakfast doesn’t count because of the egregious lack of coffee. Come on, spill…where did you learn to cook like this?”
“When I was rehabilitating…after, you know—” She nodded, prompting him to continue, not wanting to ruin the relaxed, easy atmosphere by delving into the details that had led to his medical discharge. “I had to find some way to alleviate my boredom—I wasn’t used to the inactivity—and I started taking some online cooking classes. When I was strong enough, I attended a few workshops. I honestly enjoyed it. And it helped keep my mind off…uh, stuff.”