Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Thankfully, Adelaide was in a phase where she loved being in her swing, so long as it kept rocking, she would give me time to shower, shave, lotion, and do my hair.
I’d just finished my makeup when she started to grumble. And judging by the weight and discomfort in my breasts, it was past time for a feeding.
I took the next twenty minutes to nurse and admire the perfect little creature I’d created before changing her and putting her into her pumpkin seat before finally finishing getting myself ready.
Anticipation fluttered in my belly as I grabbed my purse, diaper bag, and Adelaide’s carrier and made my way to the car. We made a quick stop at the bakery before continuing to the address Owen had sent me earlier that morning, before I could ask.
He lived in one of the older parts of Navesink Bank that was full of charming ranches, capes, and craftsman houses, mature trees, and well-maintained, colorful gardens.
“This is nice, huh?” I called back to Adelaide, who’d been too fascinated watching out the window to take the nap we both knew she needed. “It’s so welcoming.”
I had to admit that my own real estate choice had been a bit on the cold side: lots of dark woods, black, and marble. The neighborhood was more of the same—small mansions with boring, ornamental gardening, tall, gleaming windows, and cold stone.
“Here we are,” I said as the navigation told me to turn right. “Oh, wow.”
Of course, he lived in a storybook house. Everything about the man felt borderline mystical.
He had a two-and-a-half-story craftsman home with a brick front, a front porch, pillars leading to the overhanging shingle roof, then the second floor of large windows. Above that was what appeared to be one room in the peak of the house.
There was a neat stone front path, a perfect lawn, and simple, somewhat masculine landscaping—lots of green, no flowers.
It was charming.
And as if it wasn’t perfect enough, seeing us pull into the driveway, Tuna came from where he was hiding to the side of the porch and sat on the steps, tail wagging.
It was the kind of house you could easily imagine hosting Christmas, or having kids running around the backyard, of having big barbecues for family and friends in the summer, of setting down roots and letting them dig deep.
“Hey, Tuna!” I called as I climbed out of the car and moved around to the backseat.
He must have been trained not to step off the porch because he waggled and whined but stayed put until I had the diaper bag and the pumpkin seat and made it to the steps.
Then he was all over me—rubbing himself against my legs, sniffing the carrier, and licking my hand.
“Yes, hello to you too. Did your dad leave you out here to greet us?” I asked, petting his head.
Behind him, the door pulled open.
And there was Owen.
In jeans and a soft, heathered gray shirt that hugged his body and showed off his strong arms. A dish towel was casually thrown over his shoulder.
I wasn’t sure he’d ever looked better.
“I thought I heard him whining.” Owen’s gaze swept quickly over me, pausing for the briefest of seconds on my chest before forcing it back up to my face.
“He’s quite the welcoming committee.”
“His favorite people are here,” he said, shrugging that off as he reached for Adelaide’s car seat. “Come on in.”
I don’t know what I was expecting, but the interior was just as warm as the exterior.
We stepped into the living room with its medium-toned wood floors, molding, ceiling beams, and built-in half bookshelves that divided the living room from the dining room.
The windows spilled golden light in on two of the walls, but above them were the stained glass features Owen had mentioned—making little rainbows stripes across the two beige couches. They sat on a red, brown, black, and beige plaid carpet, lamps sitting on each end table, a distressed coffee table, and a framed TV over a brick fireplace on the wall across from the seating. And those bookshelves? Loaded with books. I was itching to get over there to see what he was into reading.
There was something about Owen’s house that made me feel oddly safe. But not the way my security system or locked doors made me feel safe. This was something warmer. Something like shelter from a storm. Like a place you could cozy up and relax.
“Your house is gorgeous,” I told him. “It just begs you to get cozy.”
“Thanks. That was what I was going for with it. I’ll give you a quick tour.”
From there, he led me through to the dining room that featured more of those big windows, warm wood built-ins, and coffered ceiling.
In my mind, I could suddenly see myself sitting up at the table full of kids, of family, of friends.