Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
So I need to stop thinking about how even though Micah almost never smiles, it always feels like he’s laughing over text. How he tries to pass himself off as this human icicle, but he’s so gentle with me, so sweet, and even funny in his own dry way. How he’s a good man for caring about stopping the harm the Jacobins’ drug business causes so many.
How it’s not hard to tell the death of his brother broke him.
I definitely have no business wanting to cradle those small pieces of him in my hands and soothe their sharp edges.
After we close up shop for the day, I have an early dinner with Grandpa, then bounce to my feet and head for my room.
“Don’t wait up,” I tell him. “I’m going out this evening. Should be back by ten.”
He watches me from the kitchen table with his thick brows raised, working at a bit of whittling. That’s how he fell in love with woodwork a lifetime ago, starting with these small things.
The piece he’s shaping now looks like a sparrow.
He’s so good that he doesn’t even have to look at the knife in his hand while he asks, “Date tonight, Tally?”
I nearly trip over empty air and catch myself on the doorframe to my room.
“N-no!” I sputter. “Just meeting a friend. To hang out.”
“Mm-hmm. You’re blushing,” Grandpa points out. “So it’s a friend you wish you were dating.”
I stare into his twinkling eyes with abject horror.
“What? No, I—I…” I groan, hanging my head. “Am I that freaking obvious?”
“Only because I love you.”
“I’m lucky you do.” I smile faintly.
“And any man you’ve got your eye on would be lucky to have you.” He cocks his head. “Tell me, when do I get to meet this young man?”
Never!
“Um, for real, it’s not that kind of thing, Grandpa.” I shrug. I’m a daydreamer, but I’m not completely unrealistic. “He’s not interested in me.”
“Bah. Then he’s not someone worth meeting, if he’s that big a damn fool.”
I want to say he’s wrong.
But I don’t know how to make Grandpa understand, so I just smile and blow him a kiss.
“He’s a good friend and that’s all he is,” I say before ducking into my room. “I’ll be back before I turn into a pumpkin, don’t worry.”
His loud chuckle follows me.
I dig around in my closet to figure out what to wear.
So, yeah, maybe it’s not a date.
Maybe I’ll be at Micah’s for twenty minutes before he puts me out with Rolf nipping at my heels.
Maybe I’m being silly.
But I feel like looking pretty tonight when I cross the threshold into Micah’s domain.
I flick through my closet, eyeballing outfits before I settle on a layered sundress.
It’s gauzy, pink-and-white stripes with a shirred bodice and spaghetti straps. The skirt flares out like a daffodil’s bell from the high empress waistline, skimming down to mid-thigh.
I take a quick shower, then shimmy into the dress and touch on a little lipstick and a hint of pink eyeshadow.
Pink again.
It’s like I want him to tease me into a smoking hole in the ground.
Yes, I’m doing the whole ‘trying hard to not try too hard’ thing.
My sandals match the dress, at least. My bag doesn’t, too big and bulky, but I don’t care.
Since dresses tend to not have pockets, I’m a bottomless handbag kind of girl.
Once I make sure my phone is charged and in its pocket, I shoulder my bottomless handbag, kiss Grandpa’s head, and slip out into the night.
Redhaven is a weird town.
You never know when you’ll find out that the son of the town’s wealthiest family is a notorious serial killer, but it’s also safe enough that a young woman can walk alone after dark without feeling threatened.
Micah would laugh at me for that with his big-city ways. I’m sure New York girls are a hundred times smarter and savvier, more experienced in everything from avoiding danger to attracting men.
They’d know how to make the man they want look at them with hungry eyes.
Me, I only seem to attract the one I don’t want.
Isn’t that usually how it goes?
I try to make my brain shut up.
Self-awareness sucks.
I tell myself not to think about it.
Not to get all giddy as I make my way through a night drenched in the scent of azaleas and just warm enough to feel pleasant. Until I turn down the lane where Micah’s house sits in its own little glade.
It’s shaded by old trees, settled on a neat lawn with a small pond glimmering to one side. The modern timber-frame house looks so cosmopolitan against Redhaven’s classic colonials, all sharp angles and clean edges.
Just like Micah Ainsley himself.
The porch light’s on, casting gold everywhere, but the tall windows fronting the house look dark, only faint glimmers inside. Even if I tell my heart to settle down, it’s thumping by the time I knock on his door.