Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Lights were lit, not all of them, just enough to chase the shadows away and make the space inviting. Though, the kitchen was fully lit, and he smelled the garlic before he hit it, the kind of smell he knew, it wasn’t just spaghetti, but garlic bread.
His stomach suddenly reminded him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
He and Dave had told Brenda repeatedly that she was alienating at least half of the rental market with the girlie way she decorated.
But now, he saw it, and thought maybe Brenda was a weird kind of genius.
Because straight up, he wouldn’t mind hanging a good long while in this space with Nadia.
She’d made it her own, he could see, with more books in the bookshelves and framed photos scattered around. There was a candle lit on a nightstand, and a bunch of them around the fireplace. The door to the walk-in wasn’t fully closed, and it was a big closet, but from what he could tell from the glimpse he got, she’d filled that fucker up in a way he was guessing that most of the boxes he helped Dave lug for her were clothes and shoes.
She also had a digital photo frame on the far end of the back kitchen counter that scrolled through pictures.
Happier times for Nadia, and it looked like she had a lot of friends.
Those happier times included the picture that came up when he stopped at the island.
Nadia with an attractive older woman who looked a lot like her, a much older man, and a good-looking blond guy in a tux.
Nadia was wearing a wedding dress.
She looked amazing, happy, and only someone like Riggs would notice the pain shadowing her eyes.
“That’s my mom, my grandfather and Trevor,” she stated, taking his attention to her, and catching her watching him staring at her frame. “My husband. He died.”
This was succinct, matter of fact, and it was seven years ago, so he could see that. He could also see she said it in a way that meant she didn’t want to talk about it.
He should have told her that he knew, but he didn’t want her to know people were talking about her.
She’d know, obviously, especially considering how he earned his invitation to dinner.
But she didn’t need to know how much he knew, nor did she need that shit in her kitchen.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“I am too.”
Time for another topic.
“Anything I can do?” he offered.
She put a wine key by the bottle of wine on the counter, along with a big-bowled, sparkling clean wineglass.
A vodka princess who kept her wineglasses sparkling clean and did that herself.
A piece of wisdom he liked to know about her, at the same time he wished he didn’t.
“You can open the wine so it can breathe,” she replied.
She took her glass, which was used but empty, to the sink and rinsed it out.
“Place looks nice,” he noted.
“Have you been in here before?”
“Sure, I renovated it.”
This made her stop drying her wineglass and stare at him.
“I own a contracting business. We do mostly renos and refurbs all through central Washington,” he shared. “So I’m journeyman electrician, plumber, welder and a licensed contractor.”
She kept staring.
He pulled out the cork.
“That seems a lot of education for a man your age,” she remarked.
He unscrewed the cork, set it and the wine key on the counter, leaned into a hand and raised his brows. “How old do you think I am?”
“I don’t know, thirty-three, thirty-four.”
He chuckled. “Now you’re just being nice.”
“Actually, I’m not.”
Well, shit.
“I’m thirty-eight.”
Her astonishment was unhidden.
But she said, “That’s still young for that amount of training. It’s my understanding it takes years for each of those trades.”
“It does,” he confirmed. “And it helps that I started early, seeing as I skipped third and sixth grades. With my dad being my dad, it wasn’t easy entering high school at twelve. But even without my dad, it wouldn’t have been easy.”
“Wow,” she said quietly. “Not easy, but it’s impressive.”
He wasn’t so sure about that.
“It’s why I’m called Doc,” he told her. “My teachers started to talk to Mom about moving me up in second grade. She said I had to be a genius and began calling me that as a joke. It stuck, and everyone started calling me that. Even my teachers. The name I was born with was Jonathan Andrew Riggs, Jr. But my dad was such a dick, when I was twenty-four, I went in front of a judge and changed it to Andrew Doc Riggs, and obviously dropped the junior. Andrew was my granddad’s name. Mom’s dad. He was the shit. The judge knew my dad. Didn’t ask a single question. Slammed down his gavel, though I figure he didn’t need to do that, he just did it for the fun of it, also since he knew when my dad found out I’d changed my name he’d pitch a fit, and he granted the change. Dad was pissed as all hell. It was a brilliant ‘fuck you’ I was glad I could deliver before he went up in a ball of flame.”