Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
But Rowan beat me to it.
I rolled my eyes and didn’t battle him as I had when I’d tried to bring them from my kitchen to the car earlier.
“And he will explode if he can’t do the ultra-masculine thing of carrying bags of baked goods lest his girlfriend dare strain herself with them,” I commented dryly.
Jill let out a warm chuckle and put her arm around me, walking me down the stone path lined with lavender that led to their house.
“If there’s anything I’ve learned in life, it’s to let the men do the heavy lifting while we go inside and drink wine,” she winked at me. She slowed us before we got to the front door, glancing over her shoulder to see where Rowan was. Maggie was trailing happily behind us.
“I just want to thank you for coming,” she said, her tone no longer light and teasing. Her warm expression was sincere and… almost somber. “I am so sorry about your brother. I understand that it may be hard to be around another family, especially during the holidays, especially not knowing us.” She reached out to squeeze my hand. “Just know we consider you family already, and though we are arguably all insane, we love fiercely and drink a lot, so there will be absolutely no judgment on this end if you’d like to cope through this holiday with copious amounts of booze.”
“So noted,” I replied, not feeling cold at the mention of my brother like I had every time I thought about him. Nor was I clutched with the panic I thought I would at the prospect of spending the holiday with a bunch of strangers. Because these weren’t strangers. This was Rowan’s family.
At that moment, the front door opened, and two children tore out of it. “Uncle Rowan!” they cried in tandem, running toward Rowan with Maggie barking behind them.
“Watch the cakes he’s holding!” a woman yelled from the doorway. “I’ve heard they are life changing.” She winked at me and handed me a glass of champagne.
She was tall, like Rowan, with the same dark hair and piercing eyes. Her hair was cut into a blunt bob, and she was wearing minimal makeup, but that only accentuated her soft features. And she looked chic in a cable knit sweater, white jeans and Uggs on her feet.
“I’m Kendra,” she leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Those hellions are my children.” She gazed lovingly at the kids who were now tearing around the front yard with Maggie barking playfully at them. “Say hello to Nora,” she yelled at them.
“Hello, Nora!” they called out dutifully.
“Little savages,” she chuckled. “But we love them.”
The women guided me inside where I met more people including Kendra’s husband, Keith. He was friendly and tall, seemed like he adored his wife and was part of the family.
Rowan’s dad, Hank, was the spitting image of his son. A vision of what my alpha might grow into. His dark hair was generously salted as was his beard, which he kept longer than Rowan’s five o’clock shadow. He was big, still in great shape, and was a verifiable silver fox. He hugged me in greeting. “My son does know how to pick them,” he said once he let me go. “Fucking gorgeous.” He winked. “And I hear a successful businesswoman.”
I looked down at my shoes, uncomfortable from the praise. “I don’t know about successful.”
“Shut the fuck up right now. Don’t you dare try to deny it,” a sharp voice came from the kitchen.
Her heels clicked as she emerged.
She was wearing head to toe black. Leather pants, a designer sweater tucked haphazardly into them, gold and diamonds adorning her ears, neck and wrists. Her heels were at least six inches, and her eyeliner was sharp and severe. Same with her red lipstick and hair that was slicked back to accentuate her angled features.
Again, she looked like Rowan and her sister, but much harsher, beautiful in a different way.
She was intimidating as fuck.
Until she smiled warmly and brought me into her arms like the rest of her family had. She smelled of a perfume so expensive it probably didn’t even have a name.
“I’ve done the research on your bakery, sister,” she said once she let me go. “It’s hard to open a food business of any kind. In this economy?” She shook her head. “By all means, you should’ve failed. You’re thriving. I could make you millions if you want to franchise.” She regarded me shrewdly. “But you don’t want to franchise, do you?”
I shook my head. I had already been approached with the offer and turned it down. No matter how much money was promised, I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t be at every single location, making sure the exact right ingredients were used, the highest possible quality. People would cut corners. The quality would suffer. It would turn into something cold, big, soulless and utterly unlike what I created.