Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
My eyes were swollen to narrow slits while the skin beneath them was dark with heavy bags. My hair was a disaster of frizzy curls and tangled waves that I hadn’t experienced since my mother gifted me my first flat iron in middle school. While I longed for the peace of the past, that was not the kind of nostalgia I needed.
Leaning into the mirror, I peeled the bandage off my forehead and inspected the newest addition to my face. The cut was still tender to the touch, but thankfully, it was no longer swollen and angry.
If only my heart and mind could heal as fast.
I blew out a ragged breath and spun in a circle. The bathroom was just as gorgeous as the bedroom—assuming I could forgive the beach invasion. A shower with dual shower heads took up over half the room, and when I spotted the tall shelf of designer shampoos and conditioners, I had to suppress a moan.
First, I needed to locate this mystery bag of clothes Brooke said she packed.
The house was quiet as I exited the bedroom, but the smell of something burning turned my stomach. I followed the faint sounds of movement until the space opened into a large kitchen. Light flooded in through the impressive floor to ceiling windows overlooking the ocean.
I stopped when I saw Devon standing at the white marble countertop. He was dressed casually in jeans, a black t-shirt, and sneakers. Even from behind, I could tell his hair had been meticulously styled.
“Morning,” he said, without ever turning to face me.
“Morning,” I replied.
He finally turned my way, his expression neutral. “You want a bagel?”
“Not if that’s what’s on fire.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure the toaster has settings below Satan’s lair.”
Surprised, I stared at him. Apparently, his clothing choice wasn’t the only thing casual about him that day. “Was that…a joke?”
“Depends if it was funny or not.” Carrying his plate, he walked the long way around the L- shaped island so he didn’t have to pass me and settled on a stool. “It’s good to see you finally up. I was just debating what to bring you for breakfast.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
His gaze flicked back to me, his brow furrowed. “You need to eat.”
“I’m fine, rea—”
“You aren’t,” he said, cutting me off without raising his voice. “I’ve thrown away enough food the last couple of days to feed a village. Your body’s gotta be running on fumes.”
First a joke, and now concern? This was an interesting turn of events from the asshole I’d met back at the hotel. He wasn’t wrong, though.
“Can I at least start with coffee?”
“I brewed a pot not too long ago. Should still be good.”
I walked to the cheap, black, plastic coffee maker. In a kitchen anchored by a ten-burner professional range and dual built-in Sub-Zero refrigerators, it was wildly out of place. Too ordinary to be accidental. Either it was an afterthought… or a very specific choice made in open defiance of the rest of the décor.
I approved of the latter.
After a brief search in the cabinet above it, I found a plethora of—yep, beach-themed mugs. I decided on one with a sea turtle. It was the biggest, and I’d never needed caffeine more.
I turned to Devon, his phone holding his attention, and asked, “Any creamer?”
His eyes never lifted. “Fridge.”
“Any chance it’s French vanilla?”
“No.”
“Half and Half?”
He finally looked up, his expression flat. “Milk. Fat Free.”
I curled my lip. “Damn. I might as well use water.”
“In that case, try the faucet.” He took a loud bite out of what could only be described as a bagel-shaped piece of charcoal.
It was probably another joke, but as I retrieved the milk and stirred it into my coffee, I could barely think past the sound of him chewing gravel.
“You know, I’d be happy to make you another one. Same bagel, less arson.”
“Appreciate it. Though this one’s on me. I made a mistake, now I’m eating it. Lesson learned. Won’t forget tomorrow, that’s for sure. Besides, if you’re cooking, it should be for yourself.”
I lifted the mug in his direction. “Maybe later.” I tipped the coffee to my lips, ready for it to touch my soul and cure my problems, but it was so horrifically strong it was all I could do not to spit it out. “Jesus, did you make a mistake with the coffee too?”
“No. That one was deliberate. I need to be awake more than I need to be happy.” He dusted his finger over the plate and then picked up his phone again. “Now that you’re up, I need a list of anything you want or need. I’ll add creamer.”
“Actually, Brooke said she packed a bag for me. Any idea where it could be?”
“I put it in the closet. You were sleeping, and it was dark, so I didn’t want you tripping over it. It was pretty light, so you might want to go through it and see what else you need.”