Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
I keep my head down while my eyes strain so I can stare inconspicuously at the ridges of his hard torso. He pauses on the top porch step to suck back half his water, giving me ample time to admire the way his throat pulses over his swallows.
At some point, I stop pretending not to watch. At some point, I start gaping openly.
“Come with me to the mill!” he hollers, pulling on a fresh T-shirt. He takes his time pushing his arms through the sleeves before sliding it over his head and sauntering to his truck. His beautiful, chiseled body disappears behind a veil of white cotton, much to my dismay.
I finally break free from my embarrassing gawk fest. “I should stay. I want to get this side done today.” And get my tongue firmly back in my mouth.
“Suit yourself. Be back in a bit.” He climbs into his truck. “Hey, do you have a fire extinguisher in your house?”
“No? Why?” Is he about to suggest I go put myself out? Am I that obvious?
“Everyone should have one. Just in case.”
Oh, right. He’s a firefighter. “’Kay, Safety Sam. I’ll get right on it.” I mock salute, earning his head shake as he cranks his engine.
I watch as he coasts down the driveway, his tanned arm resting on the open window.
Deep dimples pierce his cheeks as he grins at me.
Maybe Justine is right. Maybe we have started playing a game. If so, I’m pretty sure Shane’s several points ahead.
Eleven
“Done?”
I drop the brush in the empty can and pull myself off the grassy ground with a heavy sigh. “For today.” I’ll need to buy another can of paint to finish the last side.
Shane stands next to me, his arms folded across his broad chest as he surveys my yard. “It’s a big improvement.”
“Yeah, it is.” I still don’t know what those fuchsia and mauve flowers are, but the petals are popping against the crisp white paint and the freshly churned and weeded soil. “Now I just need to find someone to cut my grass until I can afford a mower.”
“Borrow mine whenever you want. I’ll leave it out for you.”
I hesitate. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
Shane secured every loose picket, something that would have taken me another two days—and likely many more injuries—to do, and I wouldn’t have done it half as well. He also replaced the post, which required a lot of digging in ninety-five-degree heat, which resulted in him taking his shirt off again and me painting half my hand while my tongue lolled out again.
All this, after having worked a twenty-four-hour shift.
A giant check mark added to the “Just give him another chance, you bitter shrew” box.
“Tired?” I ask, though all I have to do is look in his eyes and see the answer.
“I never sleep well at the station. Too many snorers.” He smiles sheepishly and checks his phone. “I’m gonna grab an hour or two before dinner.” He starts moving toward his house, and I admire the way his damp T-shirt clings to his shoulders as he walks away, wishing he hadn’t put it back on.
I’m not ready to part with that view yet.
“I’m throwing in a lasagna for dinner. It’s nothing great but you should come over and help me eat it,” he hollers, as if reading my mind.
Dinner with Shane would be nice. Why shouldn’t I say yes? It’d be rude to not accept. And we seem to be getting along. We’d talk, we’d laugh. He’d tell me all about his son. He’d acknowledge what an idiot he was for leaving me for Penelope all those years ago and then strip off his clothes, fall to his knees, and beg me to forgive him. And I’d get to feel the thread count of his sheets against my bare skin.
Shit. Look how easily I let that train of thought go down an indecent path.
“I can’t. I have plans tonight,” I lie.
He nods, and I might be wrong, but I think his furrowed forehead hints at disappointment. “You going out somewhere in town?”
“Not sure yet,” I answer vaguely. “Any recommendations?”
“Try Route Sixty-Six—the old Luigi’s by the river. They opened a few years ago.”
“Luigi’s closed down?” That restaurant was there forever.
“Yeah. Luigi had a heart attack in the middle of a busy Saturday night shift. Dropped dead in the dining room. We were the first ones there.” A somber look fills his face. “I hate those shifts.”
“I guess so.” How many people has Shane saved? How many has he lost? Is he happy in his life?
“Anyway, you should check it out. We go there a lot. Friday nights are popular. They’ve been doing really well.”
“Maybe I’ll try it.”
“So, rain check on that lasagna, then?” He watches me, a hopeful glint in his eye that looks adorable.