Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
I didn’t know that woman. The quiet, timid woman whose heart was hammering like a hummingbird.
“No,” Kane said simply. “No, you fuckin’ don’t.” He looked at the crib pieces on the floor. “There good takeout places around?” he asked, kneeling down on the floor picking up the discarded, brand-new toolbox I’d bought in preparation for putting together all of this furniture.
My palms became sweaty.
It had been one thing to have to walk past this mess of a nursery that served as evidence of my failure to thrive on my own and create a space for my child. Failed. I hadn’t done that in a long fucking time.
Or maybe that’s all I’d done since Brax tried to tear us apart. Failed Kane. Failed myself.
Now Kane was here. And he could see it. That I couldn’t even put a crib together for our kid.
“Avery.”
Sadness pummeled me at hearing my name. I looked up to find Kane studying me. His brows were furrowed slightly. His expression still wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t iceman-cold either. But he was calling me by my name, not something he’d done since he first started using ‘Chef’ as an endearment. The loss of it felt physical.
“What?” I asked weakly.
“Takeout,” he repeated. I couldn’t be sure, but I swore that his voice was softer. “Any good takeout places around here?”
“Takeout?” I squinted at him, trying to get my mind together. “Um, yeah, there are a few places.”
When I’d moved here, I was fresh out of the first trimester, and my appetite had slowly been coming back. Then it came back with a vengeance. But although I’d been starving for amazing food, I was also really tired. Like really tired. A physical exhaustion I’d never experienced even in my sleep-deprived career. Cooking a simple meal sometimes felt like a herculean effort.
I’d gone on a mission to find good food in this small town.
And I’d been pleasantly surprised at the variety and quality of the restaurants available. It made sense; this place was a tourist destination, and the ocean was right there. The fresh seafood was abundant. There was a mix of casual, seaside eateries and more upscale restaurants. I’d sampled each and every one, more than once, and found myself drawn to the Shaw Shack run by a father and son fisherman team that focused on simple flavors done right.
In my opinion, they were missing the in-between type of restaurant. For when people wanted something a little more upscale than lobster rolls on paper plates but didn’t want to be intimidated by a wine list and a tasting menu.
That was neither here nor there.
Here was Kane. In my house. In my nursery. Asking about takeout. He was here, but he wasn’t. Not the Kane I remembered anyway. Although I supposed I wasn’t the Avery he remembered.
“Pick your favorite,” Kane instructed. “Whatever you think is good I’ll like. Order a lot.”
My brain scrambled to catch up as he glimpsed at the instruction booklet for the crib for a handful of seconds before tossing it aside and getting to work.
“I can cook for you,” I offered, watching the muscles in his forearms move fluidly.
My desire woke up, and my mouth went dry while watching the muscles move, his veins bulging. Those arms had held on to me while I writhed in pleasure. Those hands had explored every inch of me.
When he paused, glancing up once again, my heart stuttered. It was there. Just a sliver, a mere speck of what used to exist before but impossible to miss. The heat. The spark. The warmth.
My body bloomed underneath even the scantiest sign of it.
“I want you to cook for me,” he murmured, his voice rough, hungry. “And you will. But not now. I want you to go get your phone, a book, whatever you need. Then you’re gonna plant your ass there.” He nodded to the glider in the corner, the one piece of furniture that had come assembled. “While I put the crib together.”
My vision blurred.
I tried to calm my breathing.
“Chef.”I blinked through unfamiliar tears. The endearment. One that I’d heard thousands of times over the years from many people, but it never sounded better than it did coming out of Kane’s mouth.
“Phone. Book. Food.” His voice was gentler that time. Much gentler.
I held on to the words, tasks. I was good at tasks. I nodded then made my way to the door.
“Chef.”
I paused, turning.
Kane’s gaze was no longer cold. No longer empty. It was so full I could barely stand under the weight of it. Slowly, very slowly and very purposefully, his eyes went up and down my body. I felt every place it landed. His eyes lingered for a long time over the swell of my stomach. When our eyes met again, I was shaking, and I could’ve sworn Kane’s eyes were shimmering.