Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“Any of them.” She shrugs. “It’s just for decorations.”
“That’s why I’m here too,” I tell her. “My brother, well, one of them, is planning a surprise for his girlfriend and asked me to stop and pick some up.”
“That’s sweet.” I can tell by the tone of her voice she truly thinks so. I’m not sure if it’s me picking up the fishing line or Sterling’s surprise that she thinks is sweet, but I’m going to pretend it’s the former.
Reaching up, I grab us both what we need, handing one of the packages to her. She opens her palm to accept, but I pull it back. “I’m Rushton. Rush. My family and friends call me Rush,” I amend.
Again with that smile. “Crosby. It’s nice to meet you, Rush.”
Even her name is sexy. How is that possible? “You as well, Crosby,” I say, just to hear her name on my lips.
“Are you from here? Willow River?” she inquires.
“Born and raised. Where are you from?” I’m certain if she grew up here, I’d have already met her.
“How do you know I’m not from Willow River?” She tilts her head to the side, waiting for my reply, and it reminds me of a baby kitten.
“I know everyone in this town, or at least recognize them. I would have remembered you.” My eyes trail over her body.
“Small-town living.” She chuckles. “I’m from Atlanta. I just accepted a teaching position at Willow River Elementary.”
“My old stomping grounds.”
This gets a full-blown laugh out of her, and it causes a weird flutter in my chest. “Stomping grounds in elementary school?”
“I have eight brothers. Four older and four younger. We’re all close in age, so yeah.” I shrug.
“Nine boys?” Her eyes widen. “Your parents are rock stars.”
“That they are,” I agree. Carol and Raymond Kincaid are not only great parents but the best humans I know. I’m not just saying that because they’re my parents.
“Well, Rush, thank you for the assist.” She holds her hand out for the fishing line, and I place it in her palm.
“You’re welcome, Crosby.”
With a smile and a wave, she walks away. I force myself to stand still and watch her go. It’s not until I hear her tell George thank you, and the chime on the door, that I make my way to the front, placing my own fishing line onto the counter before pulling my wallet out of my back pocket.
“This all for ya?” George asks.
“Yep.”
“She’s a looker,” he says, nodding to the door Crosby just walked out of.
“Harriette know you’re looking to replace her?” I tease. Well, I’m half teasing and half irritated. He could be her grandfather.
George lets loose with a belly laugh. When I say belly, I mean his belly is shaking beneath the suspenders he uses to keep his pants held up. “Son, my Harriette knows she’s the love of my life and has been for over forty years. Just because I recognize beauty doesn’t mean I’d ever replace the love of my life. One day you’ll understand.”
I don’t tell him that I know what love looks like. I grew up with parents who adore one another, and I’ve watched my cousin and four older brothers fall madly in love. It’s not that I don’t understand. No, the issue is that I’m jealous as fuck of a man twice my age over a woman I just met minutes before.
“Thanks for this,” I say, sliding my card back into my wallet and picking up the fishing line.
“Thanks for stopping by.” I can hear the smugness in his voice. He and I both know why I smarted off at him. It’s not that I think he wants to replace his wife. It’s because the dark-haired beauty, also known as Crosby, has me tied up in knots after one very brief conversation.
Pushing through the door, I move my sunglasses from the top of my head to cover my eyes as I make my way to my truck. I scan the lot, looking for her, even though I’m sure she’s already gone, when I spot her.
Crosby.
She’s got her head inside the trunk of her car, ass in the air, tempting as hell, and dangerous as fuck. Sure, Willow River is a safe town, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to take unnecessary risks. I stop right behind her, and she doesn’t even notice that I’m there.
“Shoot,” she mumbles.
“Need some help?” I ask.
She startles, lifts her head, which she smacks on the trunk, and turns to face me. Her face is scrunched up in pain as she rubs the spot she just whacked on the back of her skull.
“Let me see.” I step closer and replace her hand with mine, checking her over. Gently, I run my fingers over the back of her head, checking for injuries. “No bleeding,” I tell her, stepping away.