Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
"We will do something positively blasphemous for lunch," he told me, eyes full of mischief. "Something your silver spoon people would gasp about."
"You mean fast food, don't you?"
"I bet you haven't had a drive-through burger since you were a kid either."
"Chicken," I corrected, "not burgers. But no. I want onion rings too."
"You'll have them," he agreed as we finished out oatmeal, rinsing the bowls, leaving them for later. Or for Maritza. Whichever. "Go grab a jacket," he told me, putting the ingredients away - oats back in the pantry, cut up apples in a plastic container for the next morning. "Oh, thank God," he said when I walked back in a moment later.
"What?" I asked, looking down at the simple black ankle-skirting jacket. It wasn't super warm, but it was lined at least.
"I was half-worried you'd come back in fur."
"Drew my line there," I said, wrinkling my nose. "Teddy used to tease me about it at events. His bleeding heart wife who didn't like the idea of little foxes being skinned. As if anyone on Earth should ever be okay with that except in survival situations."
"Good for you. It is a ridiculous industry."
"Are we taking your car or mine?" I asked, thinking of my Porsche sitting in the garage unused for weeks."
"Mine is out," he said, shrugging into his dressier jacket. When he'd first arrived, it had been the leather one. But that wouldn't work with a suit. So he had on a black peacoat instead. I preferred the old, loved leather one even if it did make a mockery of my argument against furs. I also preferred him in the clothes he liked instead of the ones Bertram made him wear.
Half an hour later, we were walking down the street toward the shop. This was a part of town that never got deserted, not even in the blistering cold. The parking was in the center of the town, leaving everyone walking to the restaurants, shops, and maybe most especially, the Starbucks. But we had She's Bean Around in hand which was a thousand times better than any Starbucks in my opinion. And because the town was never dead, people were milling around. Many of them female. And all of them eyeing Smith.
It almost made me want to link my arm through his, claim him. But he wasn't mine.
One pity kiss did not a relationship make. No matter what my body had been screaming since he first touched my chin at midnight.
"This next one," I told him, using the excuse to touch his arm as two women approached from the opposite direction. I would swear they sighed when he touched my hip, holding me back so he could reach for the door.
Hell, I almost sighed too.
"Oh, Mrs. Ericsson," Jayne, the woman who had worked at the shop since as long as I remembered greeted me as we walked inside. "I'm so sorry to hear about your husband."
"Thank you, Jayne. I'm actually here for a black dress. You know... for the..."
"Of course," she said, tone hushed as her hand pressed into her heart. "I have three options I think would be appropriate. Do you or your..."
"Personal security," I supplied, a little annoyed at her suspicious look even if I had just been thinking about more close contact with Smith. "Smith. Smith, this is Jayne."
"Oh, of course. Yes. The police never had any leads. You poor thing. You must be terrified to be in that house. Or go anywhere. But let's not talk about that. Would you like a glass of wine?"
"No, thank you, Jayne. I have errands to run after this. If I could just look at your choices."
It went as I promised Smith it would. I checked out the three dresses, chose the one most like the one I imagined in my head, Jayne wrapped it, I paid, and we were done with one dreadful errand.
"Did you want to do any of the things the senator suggested?" Smith asked as we hustled our way back to his truck.
"No. I hate strangers touching my face," I admitted. I had suffered through far too many spa dates with the women from the club. I was done. "And I can just file my nails. No one is expecting me to have a perfect manicure at a funeral, right?"
"Right," he agreed, coming around the truck to my side like he had back at the house, opening the door, then offering me his hand so I could get my footing on the slippery rail thing to help me up. His hand touched my thigh, pushing it further onto the seat so he could close the door.
And then, oh, and then, he took me shopping. For fun. It was a new, novel thing - walking down endless aisles at a big box store, each of us pushing a cart after the organizers for under my desk took up almost the whole one I had grabbed on the way in. By the time we got back up to the registers, I had picked up new sheets, throw blankets, a pair of sneakers, a book that looked good, pajamas, floating shelves that Smith said he would install for me, new curtains for my bedroom so it wouldn't be so damn dark in there all the time, and bath products. And still managed to spend less with two carts full than I did on the funeral dress.