Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Whenever I’m here, I always find myself up on the roof deck gazing at the stars,” he explained. “The name just seemed to fit.”
“It’s the perfect name,” she enthused. “I can’t wait to see the stars from the roof deck!”
She was clearly delighted by his houseboat. So different from the last woman he’d brought here, whose lip had curled as she said, “We’re not actually staying on this old boat, are we?”
“I can’t believe I get to stay on a houseboat for two weeks!” Josie gave a little clap, obviously thrilled with it, but then turned to ask, “Are you sure you’re not going to need it? I feel bad putting you out of your home, even if it’s one you only use sporadically.”
He shook his head. “I can’t imagine a scenario where I’d need it for the next two weeks. You’re more than welcome to stay, Josie. For as long as you’d like, in case your trip here ends up being longer.” Still wanting to make up for being a jerk at the airport, he added, “And I apologize for being short with you when I picked you up. It’s been a bit of a day, with a deal potentially going sideways.”
“I was wondering if that’s what might have happened. Even before I knew you were there to pick me up, when I saw you, that was one of the scenarios that popped into my head.”
“Scenarios?”
Her cheeks pinkened. “I have this habit of making up stories about the lives of strangers. In airports, at the grocery store, in a bookstore.”
“That’s got to have something to do with all the books you read,” he noted. “Does this mean you’re a writer too?”
She shook her head. “I write when I have to—mostly emails, the shorter the better. But I far prefer spending hours reading rather than writing. Or talking to my clients about books. We start with the reading list, and then we talk about what they’ve read and how it’s helped them, and maybe we pick a few more titles.”
He laughed. “I like short emails too. That’s the beautiful thing about my line of business. I can send one-sentence emails, and everyone assumes I’m too busy to write more.”
“Wow. What kind of business do you run?”
He paused, trying to explain in simple terms what he did. He’d never found a simple explanation for his work. “I find businesses that are ready to expand globally and put them together with money. The latest one’s a New Zealand–based business. They have a line of small-footprint, eco-friendly homes that come packed like flat-pack furniture. Easy enough for anyone with decent DIY skills to assemble. Then they bring in a plumber and electrician to finish off the home. It’s been phenomenally successful in Australia and New Zealand and begs to be a global brand. I’m talking to finance partners in Hong Kong and New York, putting together the money, then my firm will help take the products worldwide. That’s just one of many projects I have on the go. It’s exciting, and stressful, and I’m never bored.”
“Just busy all the time?”
“I suppose I am,” he said as he unlocked the door to the houseboat, then handed her the key. “Welcome home. Why don’t you go in and take a look around while I bring in your suitcases? I won’t need to go to the gym after lugging the one stuffed with books, that’s for sure.”
“Sorry,” she said again.
“No apologies necessary. It’s all part of my airport-pickup service,” he said with a grin that almost felt out of place on his face. It had been a long time since he’d felt like smiling.
The moment she walked inside, she gushed, “Oh my gosh, this is better than anything I could’ve imagined! It’s like an apartment inside. I wouldn’t have guessed. So charming and cozy.” She peered out one of the windows, clearly delighted. “Seeing the river right outside your window is extraordinary.” She turned back to him. “How do you ever bring yourself to leave?”
Looking at it through her eyes made Malcolm feel as though he was seeing his boat for the first time. He remembered when he’d bought it. He’d been in his early twenties, and the boat had been this close to ending up in a dump somewhere. He and his brothers and father and sisters—whoever was available—would come over and help him rebuild it. Both Malcom and his family had put their heart and soul into the River Star. Malcolm had hand-sourced all the tiles in the kitchen and bathroom and around the woodstove from eclectic sellers throughout London. Even the soft furnishings had been something he’d been very particular about, knowing exactly what the ambience of a riverboat should be. He’d found exactly what he wanted in Cornwall—deep blue fabric with small seashells printed on it. Seafaring, but comfortable too.