Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
The living and dining areas opened to the kitchen set at the rear of the house. A garden terrace lined with roses was visible through the french windows. The color palette was beige with pops of red and blue in knickknacks lining the bookshelves flanking the fireplace. I gravitated to the vignette of black-and-white portraits of rock stars, thinking they added the perfect amount of quirk to the otherwise austere decor.
I continued into the kitchen, salivating at the plate piled high with bacon on the petite island.
“Smells good,” I commented, thanking Roman when he handed over a cup of coffee.
He gestured at the farmhouse-style table and motioned for me to take a seat. He joined me shortly, setting the bacon down with a side of eggs and toast. “Would you prefer strawberry jam or marmalade?”
“Uh…strawberry jam is good, but—”
“I’ll be right back.”
He returned with a tiny jar of jam, butter, silverware, napkins, and a bottle of water.
“Wait. Where’s yours?” I asked, belatedly noting the solo place setting.
“I’ve eaten breakfast…and lunch. You’re a little behind. Tuck in.”
I sipped coffee and nibbled bacon at first, unsure whether I had a real appetite. But a few bites in, I realized I was famished.
“So…about last night,” I ventured, buttering a slice of wheat toast and cutting it diagonally.
Roman snort-laughed. “I’m not sure where to begin. How about karaoke? How’d you end up there?”
I bit into the toast. “I wasn’t ready to go back to my hotel room. It sounded…depressing and I was already down in the dumps. Karaoke is usually the perfect mood lifter.”
He propped his elbows on the table and studied me. “Bad date, eh?”
I chewed and swallowed. “Not bad. Just…not what I imagined. You?”
“Same.” Roman shrugged, then furrowed his brow. “I thought I met a different guy…until I ran into the real Chance on stage singing his fucking heart out.”
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” I winced.
“Why not? That’s the real you, isn’t it?”
“Minus the part that goes home with a stranger…yes.”
Roman cocked his head. “I’m not exactly a stranger.”
“Of course, you are. I don’t know you. And you don’t know me. That’s the problem with dating apps and social media. Some people lie without thinking twice about it, and others might be honest…with a filter. That’s what happened here. Filter’s off, and this is who we really are. You’re a nice guy who felt sorry for the idiot who flew ten hours on a business trip that definitely could have been confined to Zoom calls.” I sipped my coffee, casting a longing look at the pretty terrace before fixing him with a rueful half smile. “Just so we’re clear, I’m completely mortified. If I weren’t hopelessly hungover, I would have raced out the door the second I came to this morning.”
“You mean this afternoon.” He snorted. “And somehow I doubt that. Your clothes were in the wash.”
“Ah, right. That makes this a hostage situation.” I made myself a mini egg sandwich, stacking eggs and bacon on my toast. Yum.
Roman chuckled. “Very funny. You’re free to go whenever you want.”
I pointed at my egg concoction and coffee. “Gimme a minute or two. I’m just starting to feel human.”
“No hurry. I’m working from home today.”
“ ’Cause of me?” I asked, pulling a yikes face. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I swear I wouldn’t steal the silverware.”
“You can have the silverware. That would have been a nice way of getting rid of it. I was more worried about you choking on your own vomit,” he retorted.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, lowering my head sheepishly. I picked up a spoon and twirled it before slipping it into my pocket.
He barked a laugh that turned into an ear-to-ear grin so wide it lit his eyes and released his hold on his carefully guarded façade. Boom. I had my first true glimpse of the man behind the mask and wow…Roman was magnificent. I could visualize this man joking about his superior knowledge of ’90s trivia one minute and conquering boardrooms with razor-sharp instincts the next.
That was the Roman Crawford I wanted to know.
And so did my cock.
Not gonna happen. I wiggled in my seat to clandestinely adjust myself when he handed over a clean knife. “Help yourself.”
I narrowed my gaze. “What’s wrong with your silverware?”
“Nothing. Just one of those pesky remnants from my divorce. My ex-wife chose the silverware, and it had to be the most expensive…because of course it did,” he huffed, dropping the knife on the table with a thud. “Most of the time, I don’t think twice about the irony of inheriting items I didn’t want in the first place. It’s just a knife and that’s just a spoon, and though I wouldn’t have chosen those particular pieces, I still need silverware. Not a big deal. But every once in a while, it pisses me off. Evidently, not enough to do something about it. Want more coffee?”