Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Then I tried to call my mom again, but my phone service isn’t that great right now. It might have something to do with that thick, white fog that’s rolling in.
Tobias is purring against my thigh, quiet and happy without a care in the world. All he knows is that he’s with me, and he’s safe.
“I’m Whiskey, and this—” He gestures toward a big beast of a dog that pushes her way into the cabin. “This is Bella. She’s a Bernese Mountain Dog that adopted me a few months back.”
Several of the actors on the show used to bring their dogs along, and I always loved it. I hold out my hand for her to sniff. Every dog is a good one if you ask me.
She gives me a long sniff before licking my fingers. Her tongue tickles, and I can’t help the giggle that escapes my lips. Animals are so easy to love. They don’t judge us.
Bella gives Tobias a sniff then settles onto the hardwood floor with a soft sigh, like she can’t believe she has guests. She seems just as much of an introvert as her pet parent.
I glance up to find Whiskey staring at me, an expression I can’t quite describe on his face. He’s looking at me like he’s craving something sweet, and I’m the last candy apple at the carnival.
He seems to realize he’s staring and gives his head a shake. “I didn’t get your name earlier.”
“That’s because you were busy trying to throw me out.” I don’t know what it is about this man, but I want to spend all my time teasing him. I like how gruff he gets when he’s annoyed.
“Bygones.” He waves a calloused hand as if erasing the last two hours including the fact that he tried to have me arrested.
“And calling me a witch.” I cross my arms over my chest. I know he’s playing some game, but I’m not sure what it is just yet. Still, I like the idea of playing with him. Way more than I probably should.
“If the broom fits…” This time he gives me a real smile, not just that grimace he was showing off earlier. I kind of like it.
He clears his throat. “I was just about to make myself some dinner. I could make enough for two if you’d like.”
“My name is Sophie,” I tell him.
“Sophie,” he repeats my name softly and for some crazy reason, I find myself blushing.
It’s not like I’ve never been around attractive men before. It’s that none of them have ever done it for me. Not like this rugged mountain man who seems to be slowly learning what it means to be human.
“Do you like butternut squash soup?”
My mom and I spend most of our time surviving off whatever is in the frozen aisle of the supermarket. Neither of us like cooking too much. We’d much rather be reading scary stories and talking about upcoming storylines for her show. “I’ve never had it before. Is it good?”
“Perfect for an autumn night like tonight when the weather is chilly. Come on, I’ll share my should-be-famous recipe with you.”
Something howls outside. “Is that a wolf?”
“Probably.” He walks into the kitchen, and I follow him, watching as he puts squash on the cutting board on the island. He reaches for the knife block, selecting a large one that looks almost small in his massive hands.
He seems too nonchalant about this. Then again, maybe he hears them everyday, the same way I was used to seeing zombies every day. “Do you have a lot of wolves around here?”
“Oh, these woods are filled with all sorts of creatures.” Something about the way he says it reminds me of the way a kid might tell a story around the campfire.
“What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever seen around here?”
I’ve always been drawn to supernatural things, probably because my mom let me read her Stephen King and Dean Koontz novels when I was in the fifth grade. Ever since then, I’ve been obsessed with everything spooky.
“Oh, I don’t know that I’ve seen anything scary.” He taps the knife methodically against the bamboo cutting board, keeping a perfect rhythm. “Well, there was that one story, but you probably don’t want to hear about it.”
“Don’t tell me my rental cabin is haunted,” I half-joke with him.
Annoyance flickers in his gaze, probably at my mention of the rental cabin. I know I don’t imagine it. He quickly schools his expression. “I wouldn’t use the word haunted exactly. I think most ghosts are friendly after all.”
“You have a ghost?” I gasp.
His eyes light up, and yeah, this is what he wanted. He wanted an audience to tell his story to. He reminds me of those old-timers that I saw sitting out on the bench outside Emma May’s grocery store, swapping stories about who had the largest fish. Only there’s no fish here. Just ghosts. “Now, don’t be worried. I’m pretty sure she’s friendly.”