Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Banks, I really don’t want to put you out. You’re my guest. Let me grab my clothes and I’ll change in there.” She scurries over to her suitcase, and I stand stock-still by the door. If I leave, I’ll look like I can’t handle this close proximity.
If I can’t handle this, I can’t handle the job. I’m only three days in. I’ve got to get a handle on this…lust.
“Yeah, no problem,” I say, all cool and casual as I finally move, heading to the couch, looking elsewhere. Looking anywhere but at Ripley. Even when she walks past me again, clutching some clothes to her chest. Those lucky clothes.
Fine, I looked.
Once she’s snicked the door shut to the bathroom, I sink down on the couch, drop my head in my hands, and sigh heavily. “How the hell am I going to make it through the next few weeks?”
The universe doesn’t answer. Nor do I.
A couple minutes later, she emerges, fresh-faced and dressed in a…kill me now.
She’s wearing a sundress.
Also known as the world’s most appealing item of clothing a woman can wear. It’s peach and it swishes against her tanned legs, with little straps that hug her bare shoulders.
“Thanks for taking out the dog,” she says, then heads to the coffeepot, waggling it. “Want coffee?”
“Always,” I say, and as she brews it, I dart into the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I brush, I check out the vanity. She’s set a few items on it—a vanilla and lavender body mist, a lotion that purportedly smells like satsuma oranges, a small makeup bag with cartoon dogs on it and the words Sorry I’m late, I saw a dog, then a toothbrush.
She’s placed them all neatly on the counter next to my aftershave and deodorant. Their organization is a contrast to how she had them arranged on her own bathroom counter yesterday when she scooped them all up and stuffed them into her overnight bag.
In the shower, she’s set down lavender shampoo. Ah, that explains her twin scents—the lavender is in her hair. The citrus on her body.
When I finish brushing and return to the tiny space we’re sharing, my gaze lands on the coffee table. She’s set a small vase of lavender there, next to the origami bird and fox. There are stacks of brown paper next to it, along with some ribbon. But the flowers catch my eye the most.
“Is that Provence?” I ask as she hands me a mug of hot coffee.
A smile spreads like pure delight on her face. “How did you know?”
“I looked up lavender the other night,” I admit, taking a drink of the morning brew. She does the same with her coffee. When I set down the cup, I lift the vase and sniff the flowers.
“I just grabbed some this morning when you were out. And—spoiler alert: I’m turning this cottage into a workshop today. I need to prep some big bundles of flowers for an event at the art museum this afternoon. But don’t worry. Your replacement will take me, and I’ll clean up everything here in the room before I go. I just thought a vase would be nice in here.”
They’re a homey touch. A thoughtful one. Like her.
“They are,” I say, inhaling the perfume-y scent, then meeting her eyes and taking a beat before I say, “They’re quite pretty.”
She holds my gaze for a few seconds, then looks down at the flowers. “I love this one,” she says with a contented sigh.
“Is it your favorite?”
She shakes her head. “No, Melissa is.”
That name tickles my brain. “Your password?”
“Yes.”
“I thought it was your mom’s name,” I say, intrigued.
“Her name was Sydney. My dad’s name was Henry. I just always liked Melissa the best. My mom used to cut bouquets of it and put them in my room, and Haven’s,” she says as she takes another inhale, closing her eyes, looking a little lost in a memory. A fond one it seems, but a sad one too.
I want to hug her, but I’m not sure it would lead anywhere good. When she opens her eyes, I say, “I’m sorry about this morning.”
“What do you mean?”
I scrub a hand along my neck. “I got a little too cuddly in bed.”
She rolls her eyes. “We survived.”
Barely. At least, I barely survived. “True,” I say, then take another drink of the coffee as I swing my gaze to her bare arms. I can’t help myself. With my free hand, I run my fingers down her sparrows, watching as goosebumps rise. “Why do you have a flock of birds on your arm and Haven has only one?”
“We got them together. Here in town. When we turned eighteen. We both really wanted tattoos, but she wanted to be an actress too, so she didn’t want too many. As for me, I wanted something that represented freedom and a happy life,” she says, a little sad, but a little hopeful too. “It was my greatest dream after my parents died. Especially since it was even harder for Haven.”