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)
"My grandmother made a chicken potpie, and it will be done in about thirty-five minutes," he tells me, his voice tight. “Did you want a glass of water?"
"Yes, please,” I say, tapping my finger on my leg as he walks over to the fridge and opens it.
"Would you like lemonade instead?" he asks. I don’t want to tell him that I’ve never had lemonade. I want to tell him that I’m not sure I would like it.
"I don’t think I’ve ever tried lemonade,” I say softly, and he turns to get a glass. He pours halfway and then comes to me.
"Try it,” he says, handing me the glass. “I’m not a fan, but you never know."
He hands me the glass with the light yellow drink. My hand comes up to grab the glass, and our fingers graze each other. The heat goes right up my arm as I move my hand away from his and put the glass to my lips to take a sip. The tanginess hits my tongue right away. “It’s good,” I say, looking at it, “but do you think I can just have water?”
He laughs, grabbing the glass. “It’s the bitterness that I hate.” He walks over to the fridge and grabs a water bottle out of it, then returns to me and hands me the bottle. “Do you want to go sit outside while we wait?"
I try to hide the smile that spreads across my face by looking down, but his finger reaches out and lifts my chin. “Don’t hide that smile,” he says softly, his finger remaining under my chin. “When you smile. I mean, really smile," he says, “your eyes light up to a green that looks almost a crystal blue."
I look at him, not sure what to say. “I never noticed.” I speak the truth, but I leave out that it’s because I’ve never had a reason to smile.
"Let’s go out." His hand slips from my chin, and he grasps my hand, pulling me out the door toward the backyard. I have to stop walking when I look at his oasis. The in-ground pool looks as big as an Olympic pool.
He turns to his right, walking next to the house on his covered patio until he comes to the swing. The same swing is in the front and made me want to run to it and sit down when I saw it.
Little strung-up tea lights are wrapped around the pillars that hold up the roof. “It’s so pretty,” I say in awe of the twinkling lights.
"This," he says, sitting down on the swing, “is what I added to the house once I moved in."
“Did you build it all?” I ask him as I sit down next to him on the white swing. He gently pushes it back and forth with his foot. Our legs touch each other, and I have this sudden urge to hold his hand. Just as he did in the hospital to calm me down.
"I did." He smiles. “I mean, my cousin Reed helped me out, and my dad came by a couple of times." He looks down. “But I wanted to do it by myself. I wanted to be the one who built it."
"Well," I say, looking around at the potted plants and then the small two-seat couch on the other side, “it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen." I smile at him and then sit back as I take in the view.
The trees at the far end are so dense that you can’t even see inside the forest, and the sound of a stream fills the air. “It’s so peaceful." I look around.
"It is," he says. “I’ll come out here and lie down after dinner." I wonder how many women have sat exactly where I am now, thinking this would be their house. That he would be their man.
"Where is Amelia?" I ask, looking at him.
"She’s at the bar,” he says, and I just look at him. “That’s her second job."
"She has two jobs?" I ask, shocked.
“She does. She takes care of my barn during the day, and then she picks up shifts at the bar my aunt owns in town,” he says. “She isn’t happy if she isn’t working. She always has to be doing something, and sitting around just irritates her."
I don’t ask him any more questions. Instead, I look out and bask in the sounds of the night. The chirping of crickets fills the air. “It’s so quiet,” I say. “Like if you close your eyes, you can hear everything."
His phone rings in his pocket, and he gets up. “Food is ready." He holds out his hand for me. I look at him and then the hand, wondering if I should take it or not. "I’m just helping you up,” he says, and I reach out and grab his hand. As soon as I’m standing, I let his hand fall and shake off the feeling of his warmth.