Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 23191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
He lets out a sharp high-pitched laugh that makes me jump back in shock.
I look up at Duncan and he smiles knowingly.
“Hey Warren, this is Vivian,” Duncan tells him. “She’s from New York City.”
Warren whistles low. “And what are you doing in our little town, Vivian?”
“Escaping,” I say with a chuckle.
“Well, you couldn’t have picked a better place to escape to,” Warren says as he scans our groceries. “We’re about as far from New York City as we are to the moon.”
“I’m starting to see that,” I say as I watch Duncan putting groceries into his reusable bags. No one knows your name in New York. I’ve been to the same grocery store for ages and none of the cashiers even recognize me, let alone know my name. It must be nice to see familiar faces once in a while.
He rings us up and I pull out my wallet to pay, but Duncan stops me. “Not going to happen,” he grunts in a tone that’s final. I don’t even try to fight him. I know that’s going to be a battle I’ll definitely lose.
“Enjoy your escape, Vivian,” Warren says as we get ready to leave. “And come visit our little town again. We don’t have enough fancy lattes around here. Only regular ole coffees.”
That’s what I like about it. The people are so down-to-earth and real. Everyone is so superficial where I’m from. They all have a personal brand they’re desperately trying to cultivate, and they all want something from me.
“Here you go,” Duncan says to Warren as he hands over a heaping bag of food. “For Wendy.”
“I’ll add it to the pile,” Warren says as he takes it and puts it under the register. “Have a good day now.”
I can’t help but watch Duncan as we walk to his truck. It’s around dinner time and the sun is starting its long summer descent. He looks good in the muted colors of the twilight. He looks good all the time.
The heavy grocery bags are hanging from his big hands, his arms all flexed and hard. I swallow the excess saliva building in my mouth when I see a long vein running up his tattooed skin.
“Who’s Wendy?” I ask when we get to the truck.
He smiles sadly at me. “Just someone in town. Her husband died of a heart attack last week. She doesn’t have a lot of money.”
“Do you know her?”
“No.”
“But you still helped her?”
He puts the bags of groceries into the flatbed of his truck and shrugs. “We help each other out around here.”
I watch him, lost in thought as he walks over to my door and opens it.
“You don’t have that kind of community in New York?”
He’s teasing me.
“Not quite,” I say, watching him as I walk over. His eyes never leave me as I step into his truck. “People are a little more self-centered where I’m from.”
“That’s a shame.” He closes the door and walks around the front of the truck. My eyes are locked on him. He’s so freaking hot. That body, that face, those eyes… I gotta get a picture of this man before I leave.
Maybe a few pictures. Oh! Maybe I can turn them into a calendar and put it on my office wall so I can gaze at him all day when I’m desperate for an escape from my life.
“So, you’re here for a week,” he says as he gets into the truck. “What do you like to do? Hiking? Kayaking? Riding horses?”
“I don’t know,” I say as I stare at my fidgeting hands. “I’ve never done any of it before.”
“What do you mean? Have you ever left the city?”
“I’ve left New York,” I say, flashing him a nervous smile. “But I’ve never really been in a place like this before. I’ve always wanted to though. My parents never really liked nature.”
“Alright,” he says as he puts the truck into drive. “Then we’re going to have a busy week.”
“Why? What are we going to do?”
“All of it.”
I’m really starting to crush hard on this hot mountain man. Not only is he gorgeous as hell, but he’s a perfect gentleman too.
He cooked me a delicious dinner of honey garlic glazed salmon that he caught himself with a heaping side of fresh roasted vegetables. I never eat like this back home. It’s always pre-packaged something or other microwaved to mediocrity. Served in front of the TV with a paper towel napkin.
We’re sitting at the candlelit table finishing a bottle of wine.
I’m gazing into his sparkling brown eyes, getting a little too tipsy for my own good.
“Do you have family living nearby?” I ask, wanting to know everything about him. I want to know every detail about this intriguing man. My curiosity is off the charts.
He leans back and drops his eyes. “No,” he says in a soft voice.