Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I humph. “You enjoy aching arms on the subway?”
“Damned straight, I do. And shoulders,” he insists. “It’s how I know I’m still a man and not a granny from the Upper East Side. Don’t worry about the cart. I can carry the crafts, and I’ll have our driver take these bags back to the hotel after he drops us at the ferry station.”
“Good idea,” I say as Georgia breezes back in with a tray of hot drinks and small, candy-cane shaped Christmas cookies.
“I’m full of good ideas,” Leo says with a wink.
“Me, too,” Georgia says. “That’s why I brought cookies.” A man appears behind her, his face obscured by a veritable mountain of shoe boxes. “Oh! And here are the boots. Sit, sit, let me help you try them on while you enjoy your tea.”
And so, for the first time in my life, I experience what it’s like for another person to roll a silky sock up to my knee and zip me into leather boots that hug my calf like a dear friend, while I sip Earl Grey. I’m sure my parents helped me into my shoes when I was little, but I don’t remember it. Even as a child, I was independent. I learned to tie my shoes by five and was doing my braids for school by six.
But I can’t deny it’s nice to be pampered.
It’s even nicer to see how much Leo is enjoying all this. He grins the entire time I’m trying on the rest of Georgia’s elegant finds and ushers me out of the dressing room with a spring in his step, looking proud to be the guy carrying my packages to the door.
I’ve never had a boyfriend who was proud of me before. I’ve never had a boyfriend I was all that proud of, either.
But as Leo nods his new cap to the doorman and wishes him a happy holiday, my chest fills with a warm ache. Yes, he’s funny and gorgeous, with a sex vibe that drives me crazy, but it’s Leo’s kindness that makes him truly special.
A man I would be so proud to call mine…
Instead, I settle for turning to him on the sidewalk as we’re waiting for the driver to pull around, and assuring him, “You shouldn’t worry about intimidating people. The ones who matter will see the truth.”
His brows lift. “And what truth is that?”
“That you’re a good guy,” I say. “A really good guy, and very sweet under that bossy exterior.”
Holding my gaze with an intensity that puts my panties in renewed peril, he says, “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk on shopping.”
“I’m not. I’m saying it because it’s true. Your parents would be so proud of the man you’ve become. No doubt in my mind.”
He blinks, emotion filling his expressive eyes. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” I say, giving his arm a squeeze. I’d rather hug him. Hug him, then kiss him, then race him back to his apartment to get naked ASAP, but this warm, wonderful feeling growing between us is good, too.
I have no doubt Leo Fenton is an amazing friend. And maybe someday, with some time and distance between us, friends will feel like enough.
Fool, the Voice of Doom whispers, piping up for the first time in a while, but I ignore it.
I may be a fool, but I don’t care. I’d rather be a fool than miss out on one second with this man. “Ready to get your craft fair on?” I ask as the driver glides to the curb.
“So ready,” he says, playing up the huskiness in his tone as he bobs his brows.
Laughing, I slide into the back seat.
I’m ready, too.
fourteen
. . .
Leo
The ferry is so crowded, we’re forced onto the open-air deck on top. It’s a mild day, but still December in New York. Once we start across the water, the wind stings through our coats, prompting us to huddle together by the railing as we cruise toward Governors Island and the Statue of Liberty standing watch nearby.
It would be an excellent excuse to wrap an arm around Caroline to shield her from the worst of the chill, but I resist the impulse. I’ve already taken her shopping, called her beautiful, and ogled her gorgeous ass far more than any man with mere friendship on his mind would.
It’s not just the Vivian madness that makes falling for Caroline a bad idea. I have no authority over calling the winners for the competition—that’s Ainsley’s job—but excessive fraternizing with one of the contestants isn’t a good look.
It’s certainly nothing I’ve done before. At the end of filming on Horny Housewives, I can’t get off set and away from the “stars” of the show fast enough.
As if reading my mind, Caroline asks through chattering teeth, “Tell me a behind the scenes story about the Horny Housewives. I need something to keep my mind off the cold until we get there.”