Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“How’s that going?”
He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Good. I didn’t think I would ever get a chance like this, so I’m truly blessed.”
“You didn’t play in college?”
“Not for UT or anything, but I played for the club team at the local rink. I grew up playing, but my parents weren’t supportive.”
“No? Why not?”
“Too consumed with each other, I guess,” he admits. “They had a pretty bad marriage, very selfish, and I wasn’t a priority.”
I wasn’t expecting that, especially since I grew up almost the same—just add a cult following to his story, and that’s mine. “I think my parents loved each other, but I wouldn’t know. My sister Louisa raised me, and when I got older, I helped raise the younger ones.”
We share a look of sympathy for our shitty childhoods. “It’s good you had your sisters.”
“It is,” I agree, though he has no earthly idea how true that statement is.
“Are your parents in your life?”
I shake my head. “My dad died when I was like eleven, and I don’t talk to my mother.”
“I don’t talk to my mom either. She lives out west somewhere. I don’t even know.”
“I don’t know where mine is either,” I admit with a small grimace. Not that I want to know where my mother is, but don’t we sound like two pitiful losers. “This is depressing,” I say with a forced laugh. “Tell me how you manage playing hockey and running this place, while also enjoying being chased by imaginary bears?”
He laughs at that, the sound so deep and throaty, I have to squeeze my thighs together to keep my pussy at bay. She’s a horny thing. “It’s a lot, but I manage. I have a good crew here.”
“That’s good. Louisa has been traveling to Nashville a lot for Ciaran, so I’ve been managing the bookshop more than I care to.”
“Do you not like the shop?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it. I love it, but it’s not mine. All my sisters have their thing, and I have nothing.”
He thinks for a moment, and then he nods. “You want your coffee spot to be your thing?”
“I do,” I say eagerly. “I love coffee, and it goes so great with books. It’s a no-brainer for me.”
He licks his lips. “People come here first before heading to y’all.”
The way he says y’all is all kinds of country sexy. It’s a twang I didn’t realize he had, but damn if I don’t like it. A lot. I swallow hard as he slides across the booth. Before he gets up, though, he grabs the bottle of wine. “Want a refill?”
“Yes, please.” He hesitates again, and then he shakes his head. I cock my head. “What’s wrong?”
“What?” he asks, meeting my gaze.
“You made a face and shook your head. You did it earlier too.”
His cheeks turn pink, and his jaw goes taut before he looks from where he is pouring my wine to me. “I like the way you say please.”
“Huh?” I say with a laugh.
“It’s all breathy and cute. I don’t know. I’ve never heard someone say it like that, and you do it all the time. It’s as if you are so worried I’ll say no.”
I am. “Oh.”
“Let me get the cake.”
Without thinking, I tease, “Yes, please.”
His shoulders flex as he lets out a long sigh and then heads back to the kitchen while I giggle to myself. I’m awful. I gather our plates and put them on the side of the table, out of the way, as he comes back with the cake. It’s small, like a personal-sized cake, with delectable-looking frosting. He sets it between us with two forks, and he hands me one. I take it eagerly, and my mouth waters at the sight. I should be full—and should be ashamed—but I’m not. I dig in and moan once the sweetness of sugar, cinnamon, and cream cheese hits my tongue.
“Lord, it’s better than the pie,” I groan raggedly. When I look over at him, his bite is inches from his lips and his eyes are locked on me. Heat flushes my skin under his heated gaze as I clear my throat. “It’s really good.”
“Thank you,” he says before stuffing his mouth with his bite. As he chews, I take another bite. I’m about to swallow when he asks, “How would you like to take over ownership of my coffee shop?”
And, of course, I promptly start choking.
CHAPTER 9
Coleson
I watch as McDavid wheezes, her face turning red as she coughs and chokes on the bite she just put into her mouth. My eyes widen as I get out of the booth, knocking into the rack, sending the potpie flying. Plates crash to the floor, but I ignore them to help McDavid. I pull her out of the booth as she clutches her throat, and shit, my wife is going to die before I can even convince her to be my wife.