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)
“Well, how would you know that? Neither of us can claim to be normal people from normal families. And while I don’t usually agree with waste, in this instance, I take solace in knowing that future tenants will enjoy the new sofa.”
“Spoiled brat.” There was real affection in his voice.
He took another quick sip of coffee and waved Suzie over for the bill.
Ignoring Kenny’s protests, he proceeded to pay for both of their meals and then got up.
He was leaving?
Kenny fought back the pang of disappointment. She was grateful that they’d had a lovely, conflict-free morning and had hoped it would continue a little longer.
They might not have had any meaningful conversations but at least they hadn’t been in that uncomfortable space where simply being near each other was painful.
He probably had the right idea. Better to leave now before things got acrimonious again. A single misspoken word was all it would take to tear open their too-fresh wounds.
Only he wasn’t leaving.
He was still staring down at her, and she met his eyes quizzically, not sure what was going on.
His eyebrows were raised, lips quirked and, he held out a competent hand, palm up.
“Well, come on then. Let’s go find your sofa.”
“Wh—” She blinked up at him uncomprehendingly. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re not going to find great furniture places in Riversend. I’ll borrow Spencer’s bakkie”—pickup truck—“and we can take a drive to Knysna. If we find something you like there, we can bring it back with us.”
“Oh, but I was just going order something online. From Takealot maybe. They’re bound to have sofas.”
“You can’t arse test an online sofa.”
The comment startled a disbelieving snort of laughter from her.
“What?”
“You know what I mean. You have to sit on it, see if it conforms comfortably to your arse and back. What is the lounging and sprawling capacity? Does it meet the international nap standard? Back to neck ratio?”
“Buy a lot of sofas do you?” Kenny asked, her voice bubbling with laughter.
“This will be the first one,” he said, hand still outstretched and steady. Waiting. “But I’m a fucking expert at sitting on them. I have definite and very strong opinions on what makes a good sofa.”
Kenny eyed his calloused palm for a second longer, before throwing caution to the wind and sliding her hand into his.
She wasn’t sure why he was doing this. Wasn’t sure if it was wise to continue spending still more time with him.
But she was so sick of questioning everything, and for once, decided to just give in to impulse without exhaustively weighing every pro and con.
“Okay. Let’s go,” she said with a reckless grin.
“Too soft,” Smith declared, after burrowing down into the sturdy two-seater, and sitting there for a moment. Kenny was curled up next to him, face turned toward him, while she awaited his verdict.
“The last one was too hard,” she reminded, a little fed up. “The one before that too squidgy, whatever that means. The one before that had irritating fabric. And bef—”
He held up a finger, effectively shutting her up, and she was instantly annoyed for allowing herself to be silenced by that imperious index finger.
“I said itchy-making, not irritating,” he corrected and she rolled her eyes.
“Okay, Goldilocks, what is the perfect sofa?”
Not this,” he said, with a smug upward turn of his too-beautiful mouth.
“You’re not even going to be sitting on the damned thing,” she reminded, allowing exasperation to creep into her voice.
“Okay then…do you like this sofa?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest, waiting for her reply.
Kenny dragged her upper lip into her mouth and sighed. “Not this one, no.”
“What about the squidgy one?”
“Fine…no. It was like sitting on a marshmallow.” She hated admitting that. Especially since it resulted in the return of that insufferably smug gleam in his eyes.
“Did you like any of the ones before this?”
Shit.
“No.”
“So you’re protesting my selection process just for the sake of protesting?”
“Your selection process seems to be based on witchcraft and wizardry. I prefer a more scientific approach.”
More suppressed laughter in his eyes.
“So sitting on a marshmallow is a scientific descriptor?”
He had her there.
“Your use of the word squidgy clearly introduced a bias that I unconsciously picked up. The results are therefore flawed,” she told him with a prim sniff and this time there was no hiding his delighted grin.
Kenny was so dazzled by that beautiful smile that she quite helplessly offered him an unreserved one in return. He blinked, looking bemused, while his own smile dimmed somewhat.
Kenny’s smiled started to fade too, as uncertainty gnawed around the edges of her stomach. Had she done something wrong?
But then his eyes brightened and his smile widened again.
“And me without my sunglasses.” The words, muttered beneath his breath, were so incongruous that Kenny was certain she must’ve misheard.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He hesitated for a moment, before continuing. “Just bitching about leaving my shades in the car. How about some warning the next time you decide to blind a man with that smile, sweetheart?”