Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
I take in the box of donuts in one hand and the other holding a bottle of wine. Then I see a second bottle of wine sticking out from her armpit. “Hello to you too, beautiful.” I chuckle and turn back to the wall, not answering her question.
“It’s almost eight o’clock.” She turns to walk away from me, going toward the stairs. I hear the sound of her putting the bottles down before she comes back over to the kitchen. “I thought for sure you’d be gone.”
“Is that why you came home so late?” I ask her as I spread the joint compound down the wall. “Were you avoiding me?”
“Obviously,” she answers sarcastically, then her tone turns. “I know this is going to be shocking to you, Caleb, but my world doesn’t revolve around you.”
“Don’t I know it,” I retort, avoiding looking at her because if I look at her, I’ll just want to stare at her the whole time. And I already told myself I wasn’t going to throw myself at her again. I’ve done it three times now and nothing.
“But seriously,” she huffs out, ignoring what I just said to her, “what are you still doing here?”
“Besides waiting to see you?” I wink at her before I go over the joint again. “I was able to get the painters to squeeze me in”—I turn to look at her—“but in order for them to squeeze me in, I had to make sure the joints were done. The guy we usually use for this is backed up, and I didn’t want to delay this for three weeks, so here I am on a Saturday night, working, for you.” She looks around the kitchen. “After the painters come in, I have the cabinet makers coming in.” I turn back to the wall, my shoulders aching from working nonstop all day long. “I emailed you his name and number so you can reach out to them. I also sent you the name and number of the tile and counter guy. He’s waiting for your call on Monday. He can rush anything, so it looks like this time next week, you’ll probably have your kitchen up and running. Depending on what you choose for appliances.”
She looks around. “That’s so fast.” Then her eyes come back to mine, going soft. “Thank you for rushing this.”
“I didn’t have any plans,” I admit, but I don’t tell her I was hoping to spend time with her and maybe convince her to rethink going out with me, “so it’s fine.” She looks around the room at the progress, no doubt probably seeing how things are going to look. “Was today stressful?”
She stops, looking around the room to turn back to me. “Why would you ask that?” She folds her arms over her chest.
I point over to the stuff that she dumped on the stairs. “A box of donuts and two bottles of wine.” I chuckle as I finish the wall. “If that doesn’t scream today sucked ass, I don’t know what does.”
“Wow.” She shakes her head. “Can’t a girl enjoy her night in the tub with a donut and a bottle of wine?” She lifts her eyebrows, waiting for me to answer, as I walk over and put the rest of the putty into the pail.
“Sure, but two bottles mean things didn’t go well.” I put down the tools, then walk over to the cloth and wipe my fingers. “Trust me, I should know.”
“Old girlfriend drank a lot with you, did she?” She makes the joke, and I can’t help but bark out a laugh.
“Probably, but I also have two sisters, one younger and one older, so I know what two bottles mean. Usually, it means, one, a guy is a dick or, two, a guy did you dirty by being a dick.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Are you drinking because of me? Because, baby, I have to say, I’m a sure thing, and I would never do you dirty.”
She rolls her eyes. “Again, news flash, the world doesn’t revolve around you, Caleb.” Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to kiss her. I lick my lips thinking about it. “Wait here,” she says, turning, and I watch her walk back over to her purse. She opens it, grabs something out of it, and then grabs one of the bottles of wine before coming back to me.
“I’ll show you something if you can figure out how to open this bottle,” she bargains as she holds up the wine bottle in her hand, “since I don’t have a corkscrew.” She hands me the bottle, and I shake my head, turning and walking back to my black tool chest. Squatting down in front of it and opening the top, I snatch up my Swiss Army knife with a corkscrew attached to it. “That is kind of cheating, isn’t it?”