Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Thirty minutes later, my hands are like ice cubes, even with my gloves. My cheeks are red, my lips feel chapped, and my ears are numb, but all of my things are in the house.
“So, I cleaned out a couple of drawers for you and some space in the closet. I assumed you didn’t want to take Briar’s old room?” She laughs nervously.
“Nah, not unless you plan on moving in there with me.”
“Come on back. I’ll show you.” She turns to move down the hall, and I follow her with a box in my hands. “That dresser. I gave you the left-side three drawers, and then the left side of the closet too.”
“What did you do with all of your things?”
“I was long overdue for a closet clean out.”
“Fair enough. I’ll get this unpacked and we can talk about what we’re going to make for dinner.”
“Oh, I can handle dinner.”
“Brogan, this is a partnership. I don’t expect you to do all the cooking and cleaning. Just go relax and we’ll figure it out together. You’re not my maid. You’re my wife.”
“Together.” She nods and leaves the room.
I get busy unpacking the first two boxes when she appears with another in her arms. “I’m helping so shush it,” she says, before I can tell her she doesn’t need to help me. It’s not because I don’t want her in here with me or that I have anything to hide. I don’t want her to think that she has to help me.
“How was the rest of your day?” I ask, as we work to fold and hang up clothes.
“Good. I came home and did some cleaning, as you know, and had only been sitting for maybe ten minutes when you got here.”
“You went through your clothes fast.”
“Yeah, it’s easy. If I have not worn it in ages, and have no desire to, it went to the donate pile.”
I hold up a shirt that fits that description perfectly. “Where is this donate pile?” I ask, wadding up the shirt.
She points to the corner of the room where three large clothes baskets sit filled to the brim. I toss my shirt into one of the baskets and keep working. Together, we make quick work of getting me moved in, and the donate pile grows by another full basket.
“Thank you,” I say, pulling her into my arms, and hugging her tightly. “Now, let’s eat. I’ve worked up an appetite.” Releasing her from my hold, I lace my fingers with hers and lead us to the kitchen. “What sounds good to you?” I ask her.
“Honestly, tuna casserole. I’ve been craving it. Do you eat tuna?”
“Yep. I’m not a picky eater. I’ve never made it, so tell me what I need to do.”
“I can make it.”
“You can, and we can also make it together. Teach me your ways.” I bow to her, making her laugh.
“Okay, I’ll grab the ingredients. We need a baking dish and a mixing bowl. Both are in those cabinets.” She points to the lower cabinets next to the stove as she makes her way to the other side of the kitchen to grab the ingredients.
“What now?”
“Well, we open and drain the tuna, which is the worst part, but this is so good.”
“I can handle that.” I grab the two cans of tuna and get to work.
“Now dump them in the bowl, and I usually rinse the can out with soapy water so it’s not stinking up the entire house for days.”
“Good thinking.” I do as she suggests, and then toss the cans. She’s already got a mixture of the rest of the ingredients going into the bowl.
“What now?”
She instructs me, and we work in tandem to make dinner. “How long should I set the timer for?” I ask, sliding the casserole dish into the oven.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Great. I’ll wash up these dishes while it cooks. Go finish your movie.”
“Maddox”—she shakes her head—“it was one I’ve seen before.”
“Fine, pick one out for us to watch after dinner.”
“You want to watch a movie with me?”
“I do.”
“And you’re letting me choose?”
“I am. Why is that so surprising?”
“Aren’t men supposed to command the remote?”
I shrug. “Not me. I don’t give a single fuck what’s playing on that screen as long as I’m snuggled up with you.”
“You’ve been reading your swoon manual again, I see.” She smiles, and turns on her heel, heading to the living room.
“There is no manual!” I call after her.
“I call bullshit, Lanigan. There is no man on this planet with lines that smooth all on his own.”
I chuckle to myself as I take care of the dishes and wipe down the counter. I have just enough time to pour us both a glass of sweet tea and carry them to the living room when the timer goes off.
“I’ll be right back with our plates.”
“I can make mine.”