Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
She glared down at the injury, her thumb tracing gentle circles around the wound.
“Had you caught any fish with that particular hook?” She was still concerned, and jumped a little when his free hand cupped her jaw and gently tilted her face upward to meet his eyes.
“The only thing I caught that day was my own damned self,” he told her with a reassuring smile. “I’m a lousy fisherman, actually. Harris and Greyson are constantly raving about how great the fishing is at that spot and when I found some fishing gear at the cottage I thought I’d give it a go. I just… I needed to get out of my own head for a while. I thought it would be a good way to let off some steam.”
“When did it happen?” she asked, still absently tracing her thumb over the lines in his palm. But that was okay, because his own thumb was restlessly scalding spellbinding runes onto the sensitive skin of her face. Leaving calamitous trails of fire in its path.
“On Monday,” he told her.
“After you left here?” she asked and he nodded. The gesture added more weight to her already overburdened heart and her eyes flooded. “So this is my fault?”
“No, sweetheart, this is entirely on me.”
The familiar endearment just about destroyed her. It had been so, so long since he’d called her that. She’d always found it a little incongruous. Too saccharine. A little embarrassing.
And yet…
She’d also always melted a little every time he’d used it.
And she now recognized how much she’d missed hearing it. He had all but stopped calling her that after their wedding.
They were still touching each other. At this point it was almost compulsive.
Necessary.
And Kenny didn’t believe she was in any way capable of stopping anytime soon.
Smith seemed to be facing the same dilemma. Neither of them wanted to end the contact, but both of them knew that it was either end it or deepen it.
And that was dangerous.
“Where did you go?” he asked, a helpless, anguished note in his voice.
His question confused her. She wanted to reply, but wasn’t sure what he meant. And she worried that asking for clarification would shatter the breathless spell that had been cast within the confines of this little bubble.
Instead, she nuzzled her cheek into his palm and lifted his other hand to her lips, planting a soft, lingering kiss onto his injury.
His breath snagged at the contact and he groaned quietly.
“Kenna…” Her name was a drawn-out whisper of regret and she nodded.
She already knew what he was about to say.
As she released her hold on his hand, a tear slipped down her cheek and dropped into his palm. His long fingers closed around the moisture.
“Don’t cry,” he pleaded, his other thumb finding a second tear and swiping it away with a gentle roughness that matched his voice.
“I’m sorry you were hurt,” she said, uncertain if she was apologizing because of the physical wound, or for all the other emotional wounds she’d inflicted over the past year and half.
She inched back in her seat, putting the tiniest bit of distance between them, enough for him to remove his hand from her face. Leaving her cold and bereft.
“Thank you again,” she said, blindly reaching for the door handle behind her. “For the ride.”
She found the handle and at the last possible second, turned away from him to open the door. She was out of the car before he could react.
She opened the back door to retrieve her cane seconds later.
Smith, caught off guard by her swift actions, was fumbling with the handle. Knowing that he would insist on walking her to the door, Kenny sharply called his name, halting his movements. His head lifted to meet her eyes through the open window of the passenger door.
“Smith, just leave. This is all too confusing.”
His jaw tightened and he looked set to argue.
“Please.” The word emerged on a raw whisper and the wind left his sails in one, heavy exhalation.
“Take care of yourself, Kenna.”
She stepped away from the vehicle and he watched her slowly make her way up the porch steps and to the front door. But he thankfully respected her request and remained in the car.
He drove away only after she’d unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
“Here’s the deal, okay? We don’t look at them, talk to them, smile at them, wave at them, or in any way, shape, or form acknowledge them. At all. They. Do. Not. Exist. Are we clear?” The woman speaking—a pretty, slender brunette—had a stern, no-nonsense tone of voice and was, quite frankly, a little scary. Which said a lot, because Kenny, who was rather proud of her own workplace boss bitch energy, didn’t scare easily.
The woman—Daffodil Carlisle—was referring to the group of men gathered around the pool tables at the other end of Ralphie’s pub.