Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
As for me, well, it wasn’t like jobs in art conservation and preservation were a dime a dozen. They were pretty damned thin on the ground.
I was set here. I’d lived here my whole life, outside the time I spent in London.
But I’d really liked the time in London. The different food, weather, people.
Oh, God, I was becoming one of those women who searched for reasons to uproot her life for a man.
And the man for whom I was searching for these reasons I hadn’t even known a full week.
“You also look good and have a nice outfit on,” Hugger’s voice came at me, so I looked up from not quite tying the bow to see him walk into the kitchen.
He had nice jeans on, a caramel-colored button-down that did great things for his tan skin, blond-brown hair and brown eyes. And his shoulder-length hair was back away from his face, not hanging in it, like usual. It didn’t look like there was any product in it. It appeared dry, but it stayed away from his face, and there were cute flips at the ends.
At the sight of Hugger’s version of cleaned up, I clamped my thighs together and prayed the padding of my bra was doing its job.
“Don’t meet a woman’s dad lookin’ like a bum,” he finished, coming to a stop beside me.
“You never look like a bum,” I retorted.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
I did, and it meant a lot he made an effort.
Hugger, I had absolutely not failed to note, was all about effort, bringing me coffee, pitching in with the dishes, making the bed (really well, I fell into a thirty second freeze of shock that morning when I saw how, while I’d been doing my hair, he’d made the bed exactly like I did).
I was stunned he’d never lived with a woman. He acted like a man who’d been trained.
Then again, it was clear his mother had meant the world to him, so maybe it was her who did the training.
If so, I thanked her, because by all evidence gathered thus far, she did a phenomenal job.
Cautiously, because he didn’t hide anything (not a thing), but still, I could tell he sometimes felt awkward with some of the things we’d talked about that day, I asked, “Have you met many parents?”
“Dated a lot in high school,” he stated freely. “Dads of high school girls tend to want to meet the boys their daughters are hanging out with. So yeah. Also met Mandy’s folks.”
“Mandy?”
“The woman who lasted a coupla months.”
“Ah.”
“You ready to go?” he asked.
Guess we weren’t talking about that anymore.
“I need to tie this bow,” I answered.
He looked to the bottle. “Why?”
Excellent question.
I pulled the ribbon off and grasped the bottle.
“Ready to go,” I told him.
He smiled right before he frowned.
I understood his frown when he said, “Probably need to take your fuckin’ car.”
I burst out laughing.
When I was done, I said, “I think we just need to be us for Dad. We can take your bike.”
“It fucks me to say this, and I’ll deny that I did until my dying breath, but I didn’t do shit to my hair to have it fucked up on a bike ride to your dad’s.”
I burst out laughing again.
And boy, one could say it warmed many parts of me, mostly around my heart, that it was clear he wanted to make a good impression on my father.
Hugger grabbed my hand, led me to my tote, let go of my hand and gave me the tote. I threw it over my shoulder. He claimed my hand again, and we walked out.
“I’m drivin’,” he said when we were in the elevator going down.
After he made that declaration, before I knew what he was about, he reached and pulled the keys out of my fingers. I’d dug them out of my tote in order to fob us to the parking level.
“You don’t know where Dad lives,” I stated the obvious.
“You got a mouth. You can direct me,” he returned.
“Women have been driving since there’ve been cars,” I pointed out.
“I know,” he said as the doors opened.
He said no more.
He simply grabbed my hand again and pulled me out.
“Can you explain then why I’m apparently not driving my own car?” I asked after he pushed through the vestibule doors and led us into the garage.
He stopped and looked down at me. Since we were attached, I stopped too and looked up at him.
“No. Got absolutely no rational explanation for that.”
Well, that was honest.
He kept going.
“What I can say is, I’ve never had a woman of my own, but I know there are some things that are gonna go down if I do.”
Oo.
Interesting.
“And what are those things?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager for this information.
“I drive.”
I frowned.
He grinned and added, “And she won’t take out the garbage. Ever.”