Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Nolan helps me with my suitcases up to my room, then we return to the kitchen. “The stove is gas therefore the exhaust fan has to run when it’s in use. The floors are ripped up because tiling is Theo’s next project with the house. The bed has clean sheets and a quilt, but I recommend getting your own sheets if you’re a germaphobe.”
I’m not a germaphobe—communal underwear being the exception. I’m desperate for him to give me more of an explanation about his parents. He doesn’t, and I can’t bring myself to ask any more.
“Here’s the key. Theo is not here unless he’s working or sleeping. He doesn’t say much, but he notices everything, and he’s an anal-retentive perfectionist when it comes to his job. So you best stay out of his way when he’s wearing a tool belt.”
I take the key and place it on the worktop.
Nolan nods to the key then jerks his head in the direction of the hooks by the door. “Weird stuff like that will drive Theo crazy.”
“Sorry? Like a key … one single key on an otherwise empty worktop?”
Nolan nods. “Your bedroom and bathroom are yours. You can live as messy as you want in those spaces, but the shared spaces such as the kitchen, living room, and garage will need to be kept tidy if you don’t want Theo losing his cool.”
I laugh. “How do you work with him?” Oh that’s right … you were born into crazy. A crazy I’m dying to solve.
“I handle the business part. Theo does all the manual labor. He does his thing. I do mine. That’s why we work well together. We’ve been friends for years, but he’s become really withdrawn in his life, so I respect his space.”
“He sounds like a lovely bloke.”
Nolan shrugs. “He’s just quiet and looks a little rough around the edges, but he’s a hard worker, pays his rent on time, and makes me a shitload of money because every house he renovates ends up in a bidding war.”
Slipping the key onto the hook, I get my first good look around the place, no longer letting Harold and Nellie consume my mind. The dark-stained cupboards and shiny marble worktops look brand new. Beveled-edge, wide, dark trim accent the doorways and floors. It smells like wood in here. I like it.
“Your man—Theo—is good. Did he make the cupboards himself?”
“Yes, ma’am. He has sick talent.”
I nod. “Well, I plan to keep to myself for the most part, and if I can remember to hang up my key, then I think Mr. Reed and I shall get along fine.”
“Get some sleep. I’ll be by tomorrow to see if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Nolan.”
He waves before closing the door. As I turn to go unpack, I hear Nolan’s muffled voice and that of another man’s. I inch closer to the back door where a window is cracked open.
“You’re never here,” Nolan says.
“Well, when I am, I like to be alone. A woman, Nolan? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Yes, a woman. She’s from London, and I think you’ll like her. Besides, she’s agreed to pay double what you’re paying for rent, so play nice.”
“I don’t need a goddamn woman making a mess around here and smelling the place up.”
I lift my arm and drop my chin, taking a whiff. “I don’t smell,” I whisper to myself.
“Smelling the place up? I didn’t pick her up off the street, Theo. I think she practices good hygiene.”
“Even worse. That’s what I’m talking about. All that girly crap: perfume, shampoo that smells like fruit, lotion that smells like a donkey’s ass, and every damn piece of clothing saturated with fabric softener. Candles, crap-smelling oils plugged into every outlet, and incense shit—it all gives me a fucking headache.”
Nolan’s voice begins to fade. “A thousand bucks, Theo. If you want to pay her part, then I’ll evict her tomorrow. If not … she’s staying. Get some nose plugs.”
“We’ll see if she’s staying,” Theo mutters.
The back door flies open, sparing my life by less than an inch as it nearly squashes me behind it. I can’t breathe as part-man, part-beast Theodore Reed stalks into the house. He’s ten feet tall and maybe thirty-five stones of solid muscle and anger—at least that’s how my five-three, seven-stone self perceives him. My immediate assessment could be a little inflated, but there’s no denying he’s built like a brick shithouse.
The average hummingbird’s heart beats 1,200 times per minute. I’m a humming bird trapped in a corner.
He runs one hand through unkempt, long blond hair. My eyes shift to his other hand, half-expecting to see a hammer, because he looks like Thor. His skin peeks out from scattered rips and holes in the denim wrapping his tree trunk legs. The tattered sweat and dirt-stained rag he wears as a shirt does nothing to hide his thick muscles and inked skin.