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)
I shudder, even though I’m toasty warm in my purple robe.
…but what if he’s right?
If someone put in the effort to make a discreet lantern, who’s to say what they were up to?
I swear, they were watching me.
But along with the fear churning in my stomach, there’s a different jitter when I think about Kane Saint.
At first, he was all bravado. More eye-rolling rather than intimidating, even if he had that authoritative spark from the very beginning, when I felt like the intruder barging in.
Now, knowing he’s just a few doors down, ready to tear the heads off anyone who breaks into this house, it makes me feel safe.
Am I really such a shallow girly-girl?
The thought makes me snort.
Never, in all my twenty-five years alive, have I felt like I needed a protector.
When you’re a Blackthorn, there’s always someone watching your back.
Hired security at private events dripping with money. Or Holden Grumpface when I was little, always somewhere when PopPop was around, quietly making the rounds like a loyal guard dog.
The man could give Kane a run for his money, all sharp edges and hidden secrets.
I’m pretty sure he’s a single dad these days, too.
Looking after myself came naturally, though. Especially with parents who were more concerned about their next luxury stay in the Maldives than my emotional well-being.
But this feels different, a threat I’ve never known.
This isn’t some ass-clown trying to get close to me because they think I’m an easy in with Blackthorn money. I’ve lived and breathed that since I turned sixteen.
This person was stalking me.
Not online.
Not with cringey texts or unsolicited dick pics.
They invaded a special place very few people know about.
Of course, it’s no secret locally that I inherited this place after Gramps died, and we went into town where word travels fast. But there’s no one here with a grudge against me specifically.
Right?
Gramps on the other hand…
What did he do here alone? What was his life like in Sully Bay with my grandma, long before he ever brought us here as kids?
There’s a knock on my door, and my heart jumps up my throat.
Small miracle I don’t scream.
My legs tremble as I push up to stand, wrapping my robe tighter.
Kane again?
My heart starts humming for a different reason.
This late seems unlikely, and if it is, does it mean he’s rethought his whole mistake speech?
Is he about to storm in here bristling, ready to smother me in kisses and throw me on the bed?
When I open the door with my breath stalled, there’s a blank space where Kane’s head should be, towering above me.
Instead, I look down and see a munchkin.
Her hair’s messy and she’s wearing cotton pajamas with sheep on them.
“Sophie?”
“I can’t sleep,” she mumbles, swaying forward like I’ve already invited her in.
I glance up and down the hall.
Still and silent, just the way it should be.
Uncertain, I push the door open wider.
“What’s up? Did you hear something?”
“No, it’s not that.” She shakes her head and shuffles in as I close the door.
“Oh.” A quick glance at my smartwatch tells me it’s almost midnight. “What is it, then? Do you need your dad?”
She stops and looks at my desk with my tablet propped on its stand.
Her little eyes flash with a familiar light I’ve seen in Kane’s eyes.
“No, um… I just wanted to talk to you. Because you make shoes.”
Well, not really and not yet.
But she seems so serious, I don’t dare disappoint her with inconvenient facts.
“Sure, Soph. What’s up?”
I invite her to sit with me on the bed.
“So, I was thinking… could you help me get rid of these?” She flops down on the bed and holds up her black heavy shoe for inspection. I didn’t notice them in her hand earlier. “I hate them. I never get to wear anything pretty, not like other girls. Not like you.”
My heart pinches.
Poor, sweet baby.
The ortho shoes are ugly. They’re built for function, the aesthetics an afterthought, drab and clunky with thick straps laid over the top.
They also look too big for her feet. I guess that’s the point medically to give her extra support and protection.
But if I was stuck wearing these things, I’d be sad too.
I take my time, leaning in to examine them from every angle, turning her foot gently. “How long have you worn them?”
She pushes her glasses up her nose.
“This type, a few years. When I was little, I didn’t mind the others so much, but now… They’re like braces, but your teeth never get any better!”
My heart.
This is so wildly out of my scope as a designer, and I’m not even a real designer yet.
It’s just a wild dream backed by a fashion degree I was lucky to get. Designing something with medical considerations, that’s a whole different ballgame.
But she’s watching me with trusting green eyes and I can’t tell her no.