Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
I park next to him. Before I can cut the engine, he’s coming around to my door with a big smile on his face. T-shirt just the way I like it, clinging to his biceps, jeans that he sure knows how to wear, and that hair that looks like he’s been running his fingers through for the past hour.
He opens my door and takes my hand. I’m swept into his arms and spun until my back is pressed to his truck. Our lips lock, and we share every breath. When he sets me on my feet, he holds the sides of my face like I’m precious. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”
“No, tell me.” I give him a dose of his own smirky medicine.
He grins, but it’s his eyes that have me wholly captivated. My knees weaken under his adoring gaze, and goose bumps erupt under his touch as he slides his hands down my neck and over my shoulders. When he takes my hand, I would literally follow this man anywhere. “I want to show you something.”
“Yeah?” I ask, clinging to his arm on a double step like a giddy schoolgirl. “What is it?”
“A surprise. I think you’ll like it. I hope you do.” I catch a hint of nervous excitement in his voice.
Although I find surprises hit or miss most of the time, I have no idea what I’m getting into, no expectation other than spending time with him. Anything else is the cherry on top. But I do think it’s fun to see this side of him, the one that cockiness has clearly never met.
His excitement is contagious, though, so I kiss his arm as we walk toward the back of the house. “The lights are on inside?”
“I spent some time out here today. Brought my dad and brother out to check the structure.” We walk onto the huge back porch that spans the length of the house. It could easily fit a porch swing and a whole host of rocking chairs on one side alone.
When I look at the other side, a daybed hangs from the ceiling. It looks too new, the wood freshly stained. Sheets with tiny floral detailing line the bed with a woven blanket and pillows freshly fluffed. “Did you do that?”
“Do you like it?”
I stand in astonishment, quickly taking in the effort again, and then look at him. “Did you make that for me?”
“Yeah.” He looks down at his feet when he scuffs the heel of his boot along the wooden porch. “It’s not fancy. Just some wood.”
“I love it, Griffin.” Still holding his arm, I lean my head against it, staring at the bed that he made for us, for me. When I glance down, I say, “You swept the porch.”
“It was a dusty mess. I can’t have you covered in dirt.”
I don’t know when I died, but this must be heaven. My heart is in his hands, and my love is budding for him. Who am I kidding? I felt the stages four years ago. Every day since we’ve reunited, it’s only grown stronger.
He says, “I want to show you around inside.”
Holding my hand like it’s the only hope of keeping me from floating away, which he might be right about if swoons come in the form of helium, he opens the back door for me. I step inside, unable to hold my mouth closed. “Griffin.” It’s all I can manage as I look around the house.
I expected old-fashioned and dated, dusty, and doilies for some reason. I suppose because Mr. Riggins was older. That’s not what this is. A lamp in the corner illuminates the living room in a golden hue, bouncing the light off bright white walls and delicate sheers on the windows. The furnishings are simple in a structured design, beige with blue pillows, and yellows to highlight the contrast. The blanket tossed over the arm of the couch even appears to be modern in design.
He says, “I haven’t touched the other rooms, but I really think I can turn this place around. My brother said he’ll help.” I turn back to look because I’m not sure I’ve heard this kind of excitement from him before. “He’s just finished renovating his home a few miles up the road from here. That one was in terrible disrepair—”
“This home isn’t.”
“No, this home is structurally sound and has solid bones to work with. Mr. Riggins was a home builder back in his day. He had things that homes of his time didn’t have, like the pot filler in the kitchen. His wife was Italian and loves to cook.” He crosses the room and pats the side of a wall that divides the space from the kitchen. “This isn’t load bearing, so we can open it up like at your place if that’s your preferred style.”