Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I laughed and he shot me an amused look. “Possums?”
“I know. Not exactly the sexiest animal, right? It’s probably why he doesn’t talk a lot about it. But he’s got a thing for them, I guess. Kinda weird, if you ask me.”
“I’m sorta weird too,” I breathed. This was fate.
“The whole plant thing?”
“Exactly. We’re perfect for each other.”
I bit at my lip for a moment and then pulled my phone from my small evening bag.
“Tell me you’re not googling possums,” Travis said dryly.
“The more I have to work with, the better,” I said, my eyes scanning the information on the website I’d pulled up.
The house was even grander than I’d pictured, a shining white castle on a hill. A fountain splashed and bubbled in the middle of a circular driveway, and lights shimmered and glistened from every corner of the property. It felt magical. An alternate universe. An alternate life, certainly from the one I was currently living, but even more so from the way I’d grown up.
A valet service greeted us, opening my door, the valet offering his hand. As I stepped down, I blinked in wonder.
You’ve aimed far too high, Haven, I told myself. Gage was handsome, kind, perfect. And yes, I’d known he was wealthy, but I hadn’t imagined this level of wealth.
You’re not looking to rope the guy into marrying you.
Surely even Gage Buchanan didn’t have anything against a summer fling with a girl just passing through town.
He was a guy, after all. He probably preferred flings above all else.
“Does Gage live here?” I asked. With his parents?
“No, Gage lives in his own house nearby. But the Buchanans host all their events here.” Travis led me into the house, and my neck craned as I glanced around at all the opulence. “Nice setup, huh?” Travis asked, leaning in toward me. “What do you think?”
“I think the entirety of the apartment I grew up in could fit in this foyer,” I murmured, distracted by the jaw-dropping size of everything.
When I looked at Travis, he was watching me closely. I fidgeted with my bag, and let out a laugh that felt false even to my own ears.
“What do you think of this place?” I asked. “Not overly impressed?”
Travis shrugged, glancing around. “Oh, it’s impressive. But I have the feeling a small-town chief of police’s salary wouldn’t cover the rent.” His lip hitched, but there was something in his eyes that contrasted his wry smile.
We wandered through a few of the wide-open rooms. The furniture had obviously been moved to accommodate the guests, with high-top tables covered in white linen placed around the perimeter where drinks could be set as people gathered and conversed.
The bidding items were set up in a room near the back of the house, the windows thrown open to the patio and gardens beyond. A band played in the corner, something crooning and jazzy, or so I thought. Admittedly, I didn’t know a lot about music. Books were more my thing.
“Dance?” I turned my head to see Travis holding his hand out.
I laughed. “Dance?”
“That wasn’t exactly the response I was hoping for,” he said, and though he attempted to add a sardonic tone to his voice, he sounded more offended than anything.
“Sorry. Truthfully? I’m not the best dancer.” I inclined my head toward the band. “At least, not that kind of dance.”
“It’s easy. All you have to do is trust and follow.”
Trust and follow. “I’m not so good at that,” I murmured.
He reached his hand out again and this time, I took it. There were several couples already on what had been designated the dance floor and we weaved through them, stopping when we were near the middle. I pulled in a breath as Travis stepped toward me, wrapping his arms gently around my body as I moved in closer. Closer. His body was warm and solid, and so much bigger than my own. He smelled like heaven.
My heart was pounding, I realized, and I attempted to slow it, to gather my nerves, to trust and follow.
For a few moments we moved stiffly together, our bodies swaying slowly to the music. All around us, the couples smiled and chatted, looking relaxed and casual, while every atom in my body felt frazzled.
“I like this song,” I said, swallowing. “What is it?”
He brought his head back slightly. “How is it possible you’ve never heard of Nat King Cole?”
I breathed out a laugh. “I don’t know.” Of course I did know. I’d grown up with a mother who didn’t offer a wide exposure to the arts, unless your definition of the arts was a People magazine she’d swiped from the methadone clinic now and again. And why did referring to her in the past tense still hurt so much, even after all this time?
I focused back on the song. It was beautiful and moving, and somehow unbearably sad. I relaxed against Travis, finally getting the hang of trusting and following, and allowing myself to do so.