Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Kiss me,” she whispers.
I grin, loving how fucking alive I feel when she whispers those two words.
“Soon,” I say, reaching past her to unlock the door.
“You’re such a tease, Flynn Morley.”
We take off our shoes in the entry.
“I know you want to find a guest room and immediately get naked,” I say.
She rolls her eyes, but her grin tells the truth.
“But I want you to do something for me first,” I say, guiding her up the stairs.
“It’s not sex? But is it sexual?” she asks.
“It is to me.”
“Now I’m intrigued. Wait.” She pulls on my hand to stop me from going into Callie’s bedroom. “No. We’re not doing anything kinky in her room. In fact, I don’t think we should be in her room if she’s not here.”
“Fine, then you stay here.”
“Flynn!” She protests, but I release her hand and disappear around the corner.
“What are you doing?” she asks, poking her head around the door, whispering like the Rawlings can hear us.
I pull the cello from the top shelf in the closet. “I want you to play this for me,” I say, meeting her at the door. “Naked.”
Her gaze snaps from the cello to me. Eyes wide.
I chuckle, nodding for her to head back down the hallway. “Kidding.”
“Why do you want me to play for you? I doubt cello music has ever been your favorite.” She leads the way down the stairs.
“You’re my favorite person, June. So everything you do becomes my favorite thing.”
She turns at the bottom of the stairs, lips pressed together, eyes narrowed. “That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Really?”
She nods several times.
“Huh. That’s crazy.” I lead her to the formal living room that overlooks the back of the house and the lake. The uplights at the base of their trees make everything look like a magical garden.
June looks around the room, then pulls a gold and white upholstered chair toward the middle. I hand her the cello case before sitting on the love seat by the window.
“What shall I play for you?” she asks, tossing me a flirty grin.
“Something that makes you think of us.”
June hums, positioning the cello between her legs. She slides the bow along the strings several times. I don’t know if it’s a song or a warm-up, but as she continues, the melody sounds a little familiar. Her left hand shakes while pressing the strings. She’s so graceful.
I lower to the floor next to the cello, gazing up at her past the long lines of the strings. She grins.
Sometimes she closes her eyes, and I want to crawl inside of her and feel everything she’s feeling, hear the music the way she hears it. I don’t have big dreams, but if I did, I’d want to live life through June’s eyes.
When the song ends, she rests her bow hand beside her.
“What was that song?” I ask, interlacing my fingers behind my head.
“‘Moon River.’”
“Why does it make you think of us?”
“The lyrics make me think of adventure, yearning, love, and dreams. It’s what I see and how I feel when I’m with you. Possibilities. The unknown.” She shrugs. “Following your heart, no matter the outcome. Dream maker. Heart breaker.”
I roll onto my side, propping my head up on my arm while reaching for her bare foot. She pulls it away like it tickles, but I reach for it again, rubbing my thumb along the arch. I had one good foster home growing up. The wife was pregnant, and I went to another foster home after her baby was stillborn. But while she was pregnant, her husband would sit on the sofa and rub her feet, focusing on the arch. She’d close her eyes and softly moan.
“Do you think I’m a dream maker or a heart breaker?” I ask.
June relaxes the more I rub her foot. “Maybe a bit of both.”
She smirks and starts playing another song.
After she’s thoroughly convinced me the cello is the best instrument, she returns it to its case. “You’ve seen my passion. What is yours?” she asks.
I sit up, leaning my back against the loveseat. “You.”
“Good answer.” She slides off the chair and crawls toward me.
I stretch out my legs, and she straddles my lap.
“But before you met me, did you have a passion for something? Goals? Dreams?”
“I like cars. Working on them. Rebuilding them. Really, I like anything that requires the use of tools. When I’m not busy thinking about you, I watch endless streams of how-to videos.” I shrug. “So I guess my dream would be to own my own garage to restore old cars.”
June’s grin has never been so big. “I love that.”
“Me thinking about you?”
“Not that.” She giggles. “I love your love for putting things back together. Especially old cars.”
“You do? I didn’t think you were into cars, since the only thing you remember about your first car is its color.”