Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“That’s when I leave for work, too.”
“That’s pretty early.”
She nods again and takes a deep breath. God, I hate seeing her be so fucking uncomfortable around me.
“I open at six. People want coffee on the way to work, you know? I go in around five, get ready for the day, and pick up the baked stuff from Jackie at the Sugar Studio. I actually really like the early mornings in there by myself. It’s quiet, and I can think.” She shrugs and sips. “Do you have a lot of animals at the ranch? Aside from cows?”
So, we’re going to just limp our way through small talk this evening. It’s fucking torture, and I’ll need more tequila, but I can do that.
“No.” I shake my head and cross one ankle over my knee. “We haven’t had any other animals since the girls were young.”
Because my dad would use those animals to torture my girls, so I put a stop to it. Made him think it was his idea, but stopped it, nonetheless.
“Why do I think there’s a story there?”
I press my lips together. I don’t want to tell Millie about the ugliness of my childhood. I didn’t back when I was dating her, and I don’t want it to touch her now.
“We live together, Holden,” she says simply. “You can tell me stuff. I’m not a blabbermouth, and even though I don’t particularly like you, I won’t be a huge bitch.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You won’t refer to yourself as a bitch ever again.”
She narrows her eyes. “I can be a bitch. I was raised with four older brothers. I can hold my own just about anywhere. But I’m pretty chill in my own house. So, why no chickens or pigs or goats?”
“Because my father was fond of torturing them to upset my sisters.”
All the blood drains out of Millie’s face, and I don’t look away from her as I sip my liquor.
“Fuck,” is all she says.
“Yeah. Fuck. He didn’t hurt the cattle or horses because those are the bread and butter, and the girls were taught that they’re not pets. None of my sisters have ever ridden a horse. It wasn’t allowed. Also, no dogs or cats, either.”
“No dogs or cats on a ranch,” she whispers and shakes her head slowly. “No wonder my father hated him so much.”
“What are your favorite animals?” I ask her, trying to change the subject. Jesus, we never had a hard time talking before. Never resorted to fucking small talk. It’s torture.
“I always liked the chickens,” she says with a shrug. “I’ve thought about getting a dog, but I’m not home enough, and I can’t take a dog to a place where I serve food. Maybe a cat would be okay; they tend to be more independent. Maybe two cats, so they have each other. I don’t know.”
She checks her watch and then stands.
“Let’s eat.”
She dishes up the lasagna, and we stand at the kitchen counter to eat. I’m holding the plate up, leaning my hips against the counter, watching her.
“We could sit,” she says around a bite.
“Sat all day,” I remind her around mine.
“Exactly.” Her eyes actually smile at me as she chews. “I eat like this most nights. Just stand here and gobble it down. Where do you eat?”
I shrug. “Wherever. This is good. You can cook.”
“I’d like to take the credit, but Erin made it.” She laughs a little, and it’s a shot to my stomach. I fucking love her laugh. “My sister-in-law is an excellent cook, and she likes to stock my fridge because she knows that I work long hours, and she claims that she doesn’t want me to starve. Not that I would because I’m a grown woman who can feed herself, but if Erin wants to make me delicious meals, who am I to turn them down?”
“So you can’t cook?”
She grins. “If I say no, will you want a quickie divorce?”
“No.” I narrow my eyes at her. “No, Mrs. Lexington, you’re stuck with me.”
The humor leaves her eyes, and she swallows hard at the sound of her new name. “Anyway, I can cook okay. It’s nothing to write home about, but I won’t starve.”
She finishes her dinner and stacks both of our plates in the dishwasher, and just as she turns to cover the leftovers, her toe catches on the mat and she stumbles, but I easily catch her.
Millie gasps, and I instinctively pull her against me, wrapping her up in a hug, and plant my lips by her ear.
“Are you a little drunk?”
“No. Just clumsy.”
She takes a deep breath, and after a long moment, she wraps her arms around me and hugs me back, and if I died right now, I would die a happy man.
There is nothing like having Millie Wild-Lexington in my arms.
“I don’t like that we’re so awkward with each other,” she admits, so softly that if I wasn’t twelve inches from her mouth, I wouldn’t have heard it. “I don’t know what to say to you, and we never used to have a problem talking.”