Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“You threw a cricket ball at my face. I had to get stitches. I still have a scar there. Did you think I’d let it go easily?”
“It sounds like you haven’t.”
“I’m willing to try.”
“That doesn’t sound like forgiveness.”
“My elbow is at a great angle to stab you in the ribs, you know.”
He laughed again, and it did more than twist my insides.
It twisted, turned, somersaulted them. Warmth built deep in the pit of my stomach until it flooded my entire body with such a vivacious wave of attraction that it sent a shiver rocketing through me.
Thomas tugged me closer. I guess he assumed I was cold, and I had no intention of telling him otherwise.
What was I supposed to tell him? Oh, sorry it’s snowing like shit out here, but that shiver wasn’t actually because I’m cold, but because your laugh is just so perfect.
Jesus Christ.
I needed help.
Ugh.
The middle of a snowstorm was not an ideal time to figure out you had very real feelings for someone you thought you hated.
“Are we there yet?” I muttered, tucking my hands inside my sleeves like it was any warmer in there.
Spoiler alert: it was not.
“Almost. End of this lane,” he replied, like that was going to make it better.
Unlike the road we’d broken down on, the snow on this lane was not compacted in any way by cars. It was all loose, dusty, drifting snow, and the lane itself was like a bloody wind tunnel. It was gusting through and into us something chronic, and I had to reach up to hold my hood over my hat before the wind blew it off.
Thomas was doing the same thing, and it felt as though an hour had passed by the time we reached the gates that would grant us entry to his estate.
He dragged me over to the intercom and pressed the button. It buzzed to life, and several long-arse seconds passed before the speaker crackled.
“Hello?”
“Mum?” Thomas said. “Can you unlock the gates?”
“What? I thought you were home. What are you doing at the gates?”
“For goodness’ sake, Mother. Can we have this conversation in a minute? We’re freezing out here!”
“We? Who is we?”
“Open the gate!”
“Oh, goodness, of course. I’ll be at the door for you. Hurry, hurry.”
Thomas released the button and shook his head. “She’s got a heart of gold, but the common sense of a blind donkey.”
I laughed, shivering again. “She means well.”
“Aye, she means she’s going to let me freeze to death if I don’t answer her questions.” He chuckled as the gates slowly opened, only slightly thwarted by the build-up of snow. “Ah, it looks like the driveway has been gritted. That’s something, at least.”
“It is? Why? Did it grit itself?”
“Yes. It’s a self-gritting one. You’re not really rich if your driveway doesn’t salt itself in cold weather.”
I nodded. “But of course. Your lawns have water sprinklers, and your driveways have salt sprinklers. That’s obviously why they’re always gravel.”
“Don’t tell anyone you know that. It’s a secret.”
“Between your driveway and your suits of armour, you’re practically a romance novel hero.”
“God, I hope not. Those things end in marriage.”
“Ah, the commitment-averse hero. You really are made for fiction.”
He shook his head, but I could feel his body shaking with a quiet laughter. “I’m really not, and I can thank—your grandmother’s pig.”
I frowned. “You can thank my grandmother’s pig for you not being made for romance? That’s a new one.”
“No, you daft thing. Your grandma’s pig is under my tree.” He stopped us and pointed towards a rather large pine tree where Beatrix Trotter was shielding from the snow. “What on Earth is she doing here?”
“An excellent question,” I replied, stepping forwards. “Looks like she’s gone on her jollies again.”
“Will you be able to catch her?”
“I don’t know. I think she likes me. The feeling isn’t entirely mutual, though. Not since she pooped in my bed.”
He snorted. “Can you at least pretend to adore her for a few minutes?”
“I guess…” I shuffled forwards, bending over. Thank God for a long coat that wouldn’t expose my bare skin to this weather. “Hey, Beatrix. C’mere.”
She stared at me.
It was definitely the pig. I knew by the black eye patch she had.
Not an actual eye patch like a pirate—more a splodge around her eye.
“Come on,” I cooed. “Let’s get you inside before you freeze.”
Her tail twirled, and I was able to snag her jumper before she made a break for it. If I’d let her go in this weather, I would never hear the end of it from my grandmother, that was for sure.
“Did you get her?” Thomas asked.
I nodded, cradling the little pig in my arms. “She’s freezing.”
“Okay, come here.” He took her from me and unzipped his coat halfway down, tucked the tiny, shivering pig against his body, and pulled the zip up as far as he could. “We’ll run,” he said, looking at me as he rested one hand against his body where Beatrix was. “Ready?”