Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
She set her empty glass on the bar and then gave me a playful look. “I finished my drink, Daddy.” It was impossible to know if there was lust in her eyes—or if I just wished there were. Her head quirked to the side, and she asked it like it was rhetorical. “Should we head back to your place?”
“Sounds like a plan, sweetheart.”
FOUR
Noah
We shared an Uber back to my place, and during the drive, Charlotte asked for my address. “I’m texting it to a friend,” she said, “so they know where to start if I go missing.”
Even though she’d been teasing, the guy driving locked eyes with me in the rearview mirror, wordlessly accusing me of plotting her murder.
“I get it.” It was smart, because she didn’t know much about me. I strove to match her joking tone. “Hope I haven’t been giving off serial killer vibes.”
She smiled and shook her head.
When we pulled up in front of my house, her mouth dropped open. “You live here?”
Pride swept through me. I shouldn’t have cared that she was impressed, but I was anyway. “Yeah.”
“It’s really nice.”
“Thanks.”
We got out, and she followed me up the path and onto the front porch, waiting as I unlocked the door. I pushed it open—only to thrust a hand across the doorway and block her from entering. “So, uh . . . it’s kind of a disaster in here. I wasn’t expecting company.”
Especially since Patrick and Shannon had told me they didn’t play on the first date.
She laughed softly. “It’s cool. I know you just moved in.” She ducked under my arm and stepped inside. “I’m not scared of some boxes or some—”
Charlotte pulled to a stop, and I didn’t need to follow her gaze to figure out what she was looking at. I hadn’t lied. My house was a fucking mess. There were open boxes and packing paper strewn about because I’d done a shitty job of labeling stuff, and nearly every day I’d had to cut one open and rummage through the contents, searching for something.
And there were large, empty boxes, and piles of plastic shipping bags stacked where a dining table was supposed to go, because I hadn’t bought one yet.
“This place is a lot bigger than my last one,” I said quickly. “I’m still working on putting together some of my new furniture.”
Judy hadn’t lied. It was stunning how fucking messy moving could be.
Charlotte was tense as she took in the chaos. I got the terrible feeling she was second guessing her decision to come home with me.
“This room is overwhelming,” I announced. “Let’s go into the kitchen. It’s . . . better in there.”
She followed me through the short hallway and let out a breath, like she hadn’t been able to breathe in the entryway.
What I had said was true, that it was better in the kitchen, but it wasn’t necessarily good. My mom had helped me one night this week, focusing all her effort on the kitchen, so most things were put away. There were still a few open boxes on my kitchen table, though, and some dirty dishes in the sink.
And of course, nothing was hung on the walls. The one painting I had that would work in here was leaning against the wall beside the pantry.
Charlotte scanned the room, and I didn’t miss the way she eyed the dishes from my dinner last night. When she set her hands on the counter of the island, I got the weird feeling she’d done it to stop herself from going over the sink and starting to load the dishwasher.
Was she a clean freak and my place was a major turn-off?
She looked less uncomfortable here in the kitchen than she had in the entryway, at least.
“This is a big kitchen,” she said, her voice echoing under the vaulted ceiling. “Do you like to cook?”
I shrugged. “I don’t mind it.” We fell quiet, giving time for awkwardness to creep in. “You want something to drink?”
As soon as the question was out of my mouth, I regretted it. Did I even have anything to offer her to drink? Thankfully, she shook her head. “How about a tour instead?”
“Sure.” I gestured to the hallway.
For a moment, I was excited to show off my new place, but then reality hit me. The rest of the house was going to just be more of the same—boxes and packing paper strewn everywhere. Why hadn’t I made more of an effort to unpack?
Probably because you just started a new job and it’s fucking overwhelming.
I fumbled my way through the tour, showing off the office, the guest bedroom and the spare bedroom I planned to turn into a home gym. I didn’t realize how much more work I needed to do until she peered into the nearly empty, undecorated rooms one by one.