Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
The trees cover the sun for a second, and then it’s like the doors have opened, and we are on a road with a white fence on both sides. The green grass is pristine looking as it curves to an opening, to one of the prettiest houses I’ve ever seen in my life.
The white house with a black roof shines under the sun. Wooden columns line the covered patio that wraps around the front of the house. Two Adirondack chairs sit at one end, while a wooden swing at the other end slowly sways in the wind. "Where are we?" I turn to look at him and then back at the house.
"My house,” he says, getting out of the truck before I can say a word.
Chapter 19
Quinn
"This is my house,” I say, and she turns and looks back at the house. I get out of the truck and walk over to her side, opening the passenger door. “Do you need me to help you out?" I ask, and she shakes her head.
She looks even more beautiful outside with the sun on her face than she has before. She struggles to get out of the truck, the black bag in her hand the whole time. "Welcome to my home,” I say, stepping back once I know she is going to be okay.
"Is this really your house?" she asks, and I nod.
"It was my parents’ first house,” I say. “Then I made it mine. Let me show you inside." I put my hand on her lower back as she walks up the gravel driveway.
"But …” she says, looking up at the house and then back to me. “But …"
I walk with her slowly up the two steps toward the thick brown doors. Her eyes go to the swing. “There is another swing in the back,” I say when I get to the door. “I added it when I moved in. It’s my favorite spot to sit out at night." I smile at her, unlocking the door. "Welcome,” I say. My heart beats so fast in my chest that I almost stutter the last sentence. I hold out my hand for her to step in. She takes two steps in and stops, her eyes roaming the whole entryway. There is a wooden table against the wall with a vase full of fresh flowers. "My mother said you couldn’t come home without having flowers." I step in next to her and close the door, just in case she decides to make a run for it. Which, at this point, would not surprise me in the least.
"Your mother?" She turns and looks at me.
"I held them off as much as I could, but now that you’re home,” I say, putting my hand on her lower back again. “I can’t promise that they won’t drop by."
We take five more steps into the house and come up to a small hallway on my left. “Right down here." I point and lead her down to the closed door at the end. “This is the spare bedroom." I open it, and I have never been more scared or nervous to show my house. I also have never had a woman come into my house before. This is my oasis, and I’ve always kept it private. "This is where you’ll be staying."
I open the door, and the sunshine shines right into the room. She steps in, and her feet sink into the plush beige carpet that my mother chose. “I can’t take any credit for this room."
"This is …” she says, the bag in her hand being held so tight that her knuckles are turning white. “I don’t think …"
The king-size bed in the middle of the room has a white and lilac comforter and a gray knitted blanket on top of it. I point at the wall where the bed is pressed up against. “That wall is the wood from my very first barn," I tell her, then point at the bench in front of the bed with the big beige cushions. “And that bench is the wood used in my grandfather’s barn."
"You made it?" she asks, looking at me.
"I sanded it and painted it, but my mother did the rest,” I say, walking to the door at the end of the other wall. “This is your bathroom,” I say, and she follows me, her eyes taking everything in. “It’s not big." I look at the white bathroom. “That is the tub my father had put in there when he built this house,” I say, and she looks at me. “Built it with his own two hands. I can’t even imagine changing anything. So my mother comes in every couple of years and decorates it. Hence the basket of towels." I point at the wicker basket she put in there.