Series: Kristen Proby Crossover Collection
Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“So, I handed in my resignation, sold most of my things, including Grandma’s apartment, and I’ve been a nomad ever since. I have a bucket list of places I’d like to live, and I stay for as long as I’m happy, and then I move on. I studied yoga, fell in love with it, and thankfully, I’m able to teach wherever I go.”
“So, Cunningham Falls isn’t necessarily where you plan to set down roots.”
It’s not a question, and for reasons I’m not ready to examine, it pisses me off.
“I hadn’t planned to, no.”
“But?”
“But.” She sighs deeply, just as the sun peeks over the top of the mountain. “I’ve been here the longest, and when I think of moving on, it makes me sad.”
“So don’t move on. At least, not yet.”
“I don’t plan to,” she replies with a soft smile, then sobers. “Is this odd to you, that we’re starting something while I’m staying with you? Should we back off and wait for my living arrangements to get figured out? Because we are starting something. I can’t be the only one to feel it.”
“You’re not,” I assure her. “We’re starting something. And we’re not backing off. I’ll take things as slow as you like, Fallon. We’re in no hurry, and I’m not a jerk who thinks you need to sleep with me if you’re staying here. So, if you made your move yesterday because of that—”
“No.” Her voice is firm, maybe leaning toward mad. “I made my move because I find you attractive and I wanted to climb on top of you.”
“Understood.” I grin. “And appreciated.”
“I think you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t pull any punches,” she continues.
“I’d say you’re right.”
“And I’m the same. I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“Do you want to back off?” I ask and watch her face closely, the way her plump lips pucker, and frown lines form between her brows as she thinks it over.
I appreciate that she’s thinking and not just reacting.
God, she’s fantastic.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t. I’m fine with where we are.”
“Good.” I stand and hold out my hand for hers. “Now, let’s go feed your eagle.”
“Perfect.”
* * * *
“I can’t believe you’ve never been to the farmer’s market,” Fallon says later that evening as she drives us both into town in her Jeep. We have to go to the edge of town where Frontier Park is. “I mean, I’m new here, and I go all the time.”
“I just never had a reason to,” I reply and grin, enjoying the way the wind brushes the loose strands of hair that fell out of her ponytail over her cheek.
“You’re going to love it,” she assures me.
She’s sexy as fuck driving this Jeep, in another pair of short, denim shorts and a pink tank that hugs her curves. It seems this is Fallon’s summer outfit of choice, and I’m not complaining in the least.
She’s lean and tanned, her eyes covered in big sunglasses. She taps her fingers on the steering wheel as Taylor Swift sings about shaking it off.
“I like your Jeep.”
She grins. “Me, too. It’ll take me anywhere I want to go, it’s comfortable, and it’s kind of badass.”
“Like the woman driving it,” I reply.
“Damn right.”
She pulls into a busy parking lot and has to circle a couple of times before she nabs a space that was just vacated.
“Busy place.” I hop out of the Jeep, no door to slam, and meet her on the sidewalk. She slips her hand into mine as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do, and we stand to survey the scene.
There is a line of food trucks at the opposite end of the parking lot. Lines of tables covered with awnings are on the grass, and a mobile stage is set up in the middle with a band playing some country music.
“So, to the right is all the produce,” she says, pointing it out and giving me the lay of the land. “The rest of the tables are full of crafts, non-perishable foods, art…you get the idea.”
“Gotcha.” I nod, but I’m not looking around the park, I’m watching her face. She pushes her glasses up on her head and smiles at someone who walks by, loaded down with vegetables.
“We can grab dinner when we’re done,” she suggests.
“I love me some food truck food,” I say and pat my stomach, making her laugh. “Where do you want to start?”
“I like to go and pick out some produce, and then I wander through the rest. Oh! I almost forgot my basket.”
She hurries to the back of the Jeep and returns with a big canvas basket that’s covered in red flowers.
“Are you planning to buy all of the produce here?” I ask, eyeing the size of the basket hooked on her elbow.