Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
And God, the way Nixon touched with patience and devastating confidence, then walked away, leaving me aching for more. It undid something in me. It shifted the axis of whatever I thought I wanted, replacing it with desire for more.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and pause, stretching, still half-expecting my body to ache from too much tension or not enough sleep. But I’m loose like my bones melted eight hours ago and haven’t yet knitted themselves back together.
When I open the bedroom door, the warm, homey scent of bacon and brewed coffee curls through the air, but what makes my breath catch isn’t breakfast. It’s the single red rose lying on the floor outside my door.
A perfect bloom, the color of unripe cherries, wrapped at the base in rustic twine. And a note. Something scarlet for Scarlet.
My throat tightens with emotion, and I stoop slowly to pick it up, brushing my fingers along the velvety petals, the scent heady and lush. It’s a gift more intimate than any I’ve received before, this small gesture, thoughtful and precise.
I hobble down to find Reed and Nixon in the kitchen, dressed in jeans and rumpled shirts, casual and maddeningly handsome in the way only men who don’t try to be handsome can be. Reed leans against the counter, sipping coffee, while Nixon stands at the stove flipping bacon with determined precision.
They both glance up when I enter.
Reed grins and crosses the room in two strides, pressing a kiss to my cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Nixon, who’s less overt but no less present, brushes a hand along my spine as I pass, and then kisses my lips so softly, I find myself leaning in for more when he pulls away. His palm warms through the fabric of my shirt.
They’re affectionate, but it’s like they’re deliberately pulling back, giving me space to think. But Reed’s gaze lingers, and Nixon’s fingers graze mine as he passes me a cup of coffee, and need inside me coils tighter.
“Sleep okay?” Reed asks, voice thick with insinuation, one brow raised as he watches me from across the kitchen island. “You look... relaxed.”
I arch an eyebrow, already reaching for the creamer. “Better than expected, considering I slept in a stranger’s bed.”
“That bed’s not a stranger anymore,” he says with a wink. “And neither are we… especially Nixon.”
Nixon makes a low sound that’s probably meant to be disapproving, but there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth, like he’s remembering the way I taste, as he sets a plate of eggs and toast in front of me.
“This is too much,” I say, overwhelmed by the portion.
“You need to keep your strength up… give your body a chance to heal.”
“And…” Reed grins, “for energy.”
Energy? Jesus.
“You have a good appetite?” he asks, more seriously. “You’ll need it.”
“We’re heading out to the lumberyard today. You’re welcome to come if you want to finalize your order. But tonight—” Nixon glances toward the window, where the trees sway like dark sentinels in the morning breeze. “—we thought we’d grill. Eat outside if the weather holds.”
“Outside?” I sip my coffee. “Is that safe? Aren’t there... wild things in these woods?”
Reed leans in, voice low. “Only if you wander off the path.”
Finn appears at the back door, smiling. “Or if you invite them in.”
I blink. The way they exchange subtle and unreadable glances sets something twisting low in my gut.
“Speaking of wild things,” I say slowly, “what happened to that giant dog?”
There’s a pause. One breath too long. The kind that reveals secrets lurking beneath.
Finn clears his throat. “He’s tame. You don’t have to worry about him. He goes where he wants.”
Nixon follows with a nod. Reed grins into his coffee like a man remembering a joke.
Right. That’s not suspicious at all.
I let it drop for now, even as questions needle at me.
“What can I contribute tonight?” I ask instead. “I guess your grilling expertise doesn’t extend to dessert.”
Reed perks up. “Dessert?”
I shrug. “I make a mean muffin. Blueberry. Sometimes apple-cinnamon if I’m in an ambitious mood.”
“Apple,” Finn says quietly.
Reed tilts his head. “We’ll need to supervise that. Thoroughly. Taste-test the batter. Maybe twice.”
“You’re our guest,” Nixon says. “You don’t have to cook.”
“Maybe not,” I reply, “but I don’t want to lie around looking pretty while you do all the work.”
Reed leans forward, grin sharpening. “Lying around looking pretty is exactly what I want you to do.”
“Don’t mind him,” Finn murmurs. “He was raised by wolves.”
I snort. Nixon’s mouth twitches.
Outside, the sun is climbing past the treetops, and everything feels normal. A woman and three men in a cabin in the woods, drinking coffee and making plans, as if the tension isn’t palpable and the world outside these walls doesn’t thrum with danger.
This could be a life for another woman who didn’t know the danger of strangers and wasn’t sure that her brokenness would fracture anything good.