Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
While it’s instinct to push, to pay for this woman like I always do, even if she’s just a friend, I realize it’s pointless.
A cheap breakfast is nothing for a billionaire heiress.
“Fine. Thanks for the food, Margot. Kids?”
Sophie and Dan eagerly rush their thank-yous as we head outside a minute later.
All the way to the car and then to the hardware store, the waitress’ assumption sticks in my brain like a barb.
Never thought I’d be grabbing a meal with the kids and another woman this soon. Not that it’s like that, fuck no, but still—
I’ve never had to worry about anyone assuming they have a different mother.
Shit.
The thought makes my stomach churn.
Especially because Margot would’ve been like sixteen when they were born. Don’t even ask what that would make me.
Another damnably good reason to keep my distance.
If we stroll around this town too much—just like we’re doing now—the local yokels might spool up some really wild stories.
When we pull up and park in front of the little hardware store, Margot’s face lights up.
“You didn’t forget,” she says happily.
“No. Can’t hurt to pick up a few more tools for the house anyway.” I cut the engine and head inside.
It’s barely the size of a gas station, but it still looks like it has everything we need. Any residual tension from the diner fades.
Margot ties her hair up like she means business, and the kids split up, wandering the aisles.
“Stick together, guys,” I call after them. “Don’t leave the store without me.”
“Dad, we know,” Dan calls back, rushing down an aisle with drills and power tools.
I wander alone down another aisle, only halfway paying attention to what I’m looking for as my mind wanders.
Naturally, it goes back to breakfast.
I’m overreacting.
I shouldn’t have gotten so revved up over a random waitress thinking we’re together. It was a natural assumption really.
And it’s my baggage blowing it up into more.
I push my thoughts aside and focus on what I’m supposed to be doing.
I do my best not to think about Margot, all long legs and miles of trouble.
Bad, bad idea.
I’m still brooding like the moody sack of ice I am when I meet her and the kids in the paint section. They’re chattering excitedly as she looks up and taps her fingers against a can on the shelf.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“Broad question. Generally, I think a lot.”
She slides me an unimpressed look as Daniel groans and covers his face.
“Smart-ass,” she says. “Do they start teaching Dad jokes at the hospital when your kids are born or does it just come from getting old?”
“Uploaded to my brain the day I signed their birth certificates,” I say. “Like changing a lightbulb.”
She laughs.
“You’re so cringe,” she mutters, chewing her lip as she moves along the aisle. “But I figured I’d get some paint to freshen up the house while we’re here. I’ve already got a power sander.”
That’ll definitely come in handy, considering the walls could use some light touch-up and a fresh coat or two in places.
“Sure. We can probably get a couple rooms done.”
“What color do you think? More beige maybe? Organic style’s pretty in.” She tilts her head adorably as she thinks, sucking at her lip.
“I like pink. The light creamy one,” Sophie says.
Margot nods seriously. “So do I. An accent wall maybe?”
“What about green?” I venture, eyeing the dark green-black colors. “It’ll bring the forest inside.”
“Mmm, the dark ones are very moody. But a nice viridian green overlooking the lake… that might look cool. We could even throw some red in to pop with the fall colors and winter sunsets.” She pulls out her phone. “I took a couple pictures earlier. I wish I’d taken more. There’s this sweet app that simulates colors and styles on real rooms. It’s a game changer for home renovations. You upload some pics and it’ll take the options and put them into a full 3D model, like walking around your new house. Here, let me find it.”
My spine locks.
It’s like some asshole just punched me and I’m retraining my lungs how to breathe.
“So useful,” she says, tapping her phone and flicking through her apps.
“No,” I spit.
She glances up, surprised at my sharp tone.
Fuck, I’m giving too much away.
But I know it’s hardly as useful as she thinks.
“Come again?” Her eyebrows draw together in confusion.
I force my throat to relax a little.
“I just mean I’ve seen them before,” I rush out. “Yeah, it might be useful, but the AI engines give you too many options and not enough good ones. Why don’t you get a real opinion from a contractor? If Sully Bay doesn’t have an interior designer, surely there’s one somewhere down in Bar Harbor.”
“But that could take a week or more. I thought you wanted to get this done?”
That was before she mentioned the app.
“I can help you get started, yeah. Besides, these painting projects usually take longer than you think. Whenever I didn’t hire it out back home, it could take me days to do a few rooms.”