Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“But you love it here anyway,” he says, his voice rumbly in a way that makes the innocent question feel scandalous. Electric.
I smile. “I do. It’s so beautiful and peaceful. And I feel like I’m making a difference here. Even if it’s a small difference.”
“Nothing more important than that.”
I cock my head, warmed by his words. “I think so. I’m going to miss it so much when I leave.” I glance outside, my chest tightening. “This is my last summer on the marsh. Once I start my real job, I won’t have time to do fieldwork.”
He makes a sad noise beneath his breath. “That’s a shame.”
I turn back to find him gazing down at me, a light in his eyes that makes me ache again, but not just to touch him. I absolutely want to touch him, but I also want to know him, this man who seems so honest and real.
In my high society world back in Manhattan, it seems like everyone is pretending to be something they’re not. Pretending to be richer than they are or to have connections to people they’ve never met. Pretending they didn’t have a nose job and would never dream of sleeping with their secretary or their trainer or some other tired cliché.
Even at school, my classmates were seldom what they seemed. Take Adrian. He would tell anyone who stood still long enough that his family and friends meant everything to him, but he regularly dodged his mother’s phone calls and had an excuse every time a friend needed help moving across town. I’ve learned that you can’t always take people at their word. Not because they’re bad people, per se, but because who we want to be isn’t always the same as who we truly are.
But with Gideon, I can tell things would be different. With him, I sense that he means what he says, all the way down to the deepest part of his soul.
That hunch is enough to give me the guts to whisper, “I’m glad there’s no girlfriend. There’s something about you, Gideon.”
Recognition flares in his dark eyes, but he doesn’t lean closer.
He eases away.
He does it under the pretext of moving the rice to another burner, but I’m sensing it’s another kind of heat he’s trying to avoid when he murmurs, “There’s something about you, too, Sydney. The second I stepped out of the terminal, my eyes went straight to you. And I…” His tongue slips out to wet his lips, sending a shiver of longing through my core. “I couldn’t look away.”
“I’m glad, and not just because you kept me from getting crushed.” I search his profile for clues as to why he’s holding back. My gut says he’s feeling the connection between us, too, but maybe… “And I’m not looking for anything long-term. In case you were wondering.”
He shifts his focus, his gaze sharpening on mine. “Am I that easy to read?”
I shake my head, dizzy from the rush of being so direct with a man for the first time in my life. “No. There’s something else that’s bothering you, too. Something I can’t figure out.”
He exhales a rough breath before adding in a softer voice, “You’re young, butterfly girl. I’m not sure how young, but I’m betting too young for a man about to turn forty on December thirty-first.”
A sudden smile stretches my face. “You’re a New Year’s Eve baby? Me, too.”
His brows lift. “Really?”
I nod. “Yeah. I loved it as a kid. My parents would throw these huge parties for their friends and work colleagues, but I got to invite a few friends, too. We’d have a sleepover and stay up as late as we wanted. There was always amazing food and music, and the entire party sang Happy Birthday to me before they started Auld Lang Syne. It was really special.” I shrug, embarrassed by my overzealous trip down memory lane. “Those are some of my best memories from…before.”
His forehead furrows. “The parties stopped after your mother died?”
“Yes, but I understood. She was the social one, the planner. And my dad always got me anything I wanted for my birthday. It’s amazing I wasn’t spoiled rotten.”
“There’s not a rotten thing about you,” Gideon murmurs. “You’re…stunning. And sweet. And I want to kiss you, but…”
Air caught in my lungs, I wheeze, “But?”
“You still haven’t told me how old you are.”
“Oh,” I say with a very un-smooth laugh that sounds more like I’m choking. I cough, regaining control before I add, “Sorry. I’m twenty-four.”
He winces. “You’re only two years older than my son.”
I press my lips together for a moment, trying to decide why I don’t find that as troubling as he seems to. After a moment, I say, “Well, yes. But you had your son when you were still in high school. My father is way older than I am and I don’t… I just…”