Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 101466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“Mine?” I asked, reaching for it.
He laughed. “Mine.” He came closer, handing me his mug. “But I’ll share.”
I took a sip, the brew hot and flavorful. “Hmm,” I hummed. “What have you been up to?”
“Making plans. Can you take the day off?”
“I think so.”
“Then drink the coffee and get ready.”
“Where are we going?”
He stood with a wink, then bent and pressed a kiss to my head. “You’ll see.”
I walked out the back door and stopped with a gasp.
“Lou’s car!”
I raced toward him, almost tripping over my feet to get closer. Thorne caught me, stopping me from falling as he laughed. “Whoa. Steady on, Pix.”
I ran my hand over the bright-blue paint.
“Where…” I babbled. “How?”
He smiled. “It was in the garage under the tarp. Lou left it to me in her will.”
I had seen the tarp when I’d gone into the garage but never thought to look under it. I had forgotten about Lou’s old Mustang. She’d often take me for rides in it, and we’d go for ice cream or exploring. We had so many adventures together.
“I thought we’d do that today.”
I looked up and realized I’d been talking out loud again.
“I thought we’d go for a drive, stop and get some food, and have a picnic somewhere. Enjoy the nice weather. I think we could both use the break.”
I flung myself into his arms and hugged him. “I would love that!”
“So would Miller, but with his paw still healing, I think he’ll sit this one out.”
I smiled. “Barney will stay home with him. He’s good in the car, but he doesn’t love it.” I glanced to where they were already curling up in the sun. “I doubt we’ll be missed.”
“Good plan, then. I put a blanket in the trunk, and there was already a basket there.”
I nodded eagerly, another memory surfacing. “Lou always kept a big basket in the trunk for when she was exploring. She said she never knew what treasure she’d find and needed to be prepared.”
He laughed and kissed the end of my nose. “She said that to me too. Let’s go and have a Lou day. See what treasures we find.”
I hugged his arm. “Okay.”
Jesse put the top down, and the sun and wind felt good on my face. I stole glances at him as I sipped the coffee he’d stopped to get and we drove aimlessly. He was smiling and relaxed today, sexy and happy. Almost carefree. It was impossible to think of him as Thorne. Today, he was pure Jesse.
And I liked pure Jesse.
I opened the glove box and clapped my hands in delight. “Oh my God, they’re still here!”
“What is?” he asked.
I held up two pairs of sunglasses. They were bright blue to match the car and had daisies all around the rims. I had loved them as a child. “These were what Lou and I wore for our explorations!”
He chuckled as I slid on the smaller pair. “They still fit!” I looked at him, my hands raised in celebration.
“Nice look on you, Pixie,” he said.
I pulled down the visor and peeked in the mirror. I looked ridiculous, but they made me happy. I rested my head back on the leather, staring as the fields flew by. I inhaled deeply, feeling happy.
Settled.
It was an odd sensation. One I had only felt one other time in my life, and that had been with the owner of this car. I turned to Jesse to ask him a question.
“Jesse…”
He turned his head and grinned. Really grinned. He wore Lou’s glasses, the bright blue and daisies looking ludicrous on his face, yet perfect. Somehow he looked even sexier, more rugged, sporting the silly flower-framed sunglasses.
“I can’t let you have all the fashionable eyewear,” he intoned. “I’m exploring too.”
His words and actions touched my heart. He was being funny. He liked to make me laugh.
And I liked it too.
We stopped at a little store advertising fresh sandwiches and went inside. It was cool and dim and smelled incredible. Fresh bread, cookies, and something savory tickled my nose. An older couple and their son were inside, the mom and son behind the deli counter, while the dad operated the register. Jesse ordered a chicken club and a roast beef sandwich, and the woman turned to begin making them, asking him about toppings. I hemmed and hawed, unsure.
“I recommend the ham and Swiss,” the young man informed me. “Mom bakes the ham herself. Or the meatloaf.”
“Does she make that too?”
“She makes everything. The chicken, the roast beef. If you don’t want a sandwich, her fried chicken will be out in about five minutes.”
“Oh,” I exclaimed. “I love fried chicken for a picnic. I’ll take that.”
“How many pieces?”
“Six.” I had a feeling Jesse would eat some too. “Plus a meatloaf and a ham sandwich. And I’ll get some salads if you have forks I can add.”