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)
“It’s Margot,” she says. “Leonidas’ granddaughter?”
“Margot.” Mrs. Solomon’s face splits into a grin, creasing her skin like old leather. “You should’ve said something sooner, honey. Glad to see a Blackthorn back in this town!”
Margot laughs brightly, shifting against me again.
I remind myself that we’re in public, and the last thing I should do is pop a hard-on here, right in front of little old ladies and all.
I try like hell to focus on the conversation.
“I was dreadfully sad to hear the news about your granddad,” she says, frowning. “Such a great man. It was always so nice when he came around with you and your brother.”
“Ethan,” Margot supplies.
“That’s right. Ethan. How’s he doing now? I heard he got engaged.”
“He did. They’re married, actually. You remember my friend who used to come here sometimes? Hattie?”
“The one with the glasses? Always had her nose stuck in a book, yes.” Mrs. Solomon’s grin widens. “She used to come into my shop looking for paperbacks and she’d need your help to carry her haul.”
“Until we came back the next week, yeah!”
“She’s the one he married?”
“That’s right,” Margot says and laughs again. “None of us saw that one coming.”
“Oh my, how lovely. Opposites do attract. It’s not just a saying.”
My dick throbs in agreement.
“No argument there,” Margot says.
They talk a bit more, reminiscing about the past and coming into her old bookstore to pick through stories and relax.
That’s the whole atmosphere here.
Must be the reason why I feel like I’m finally relaxing for the first time since we arrived.
“We do like the quiet life here,” Mrs. Solomon says. “Sometimes the tourists bring a bit of trouble, but you won’t see folks locking their doors or fussing with those fancy doorbell cameras.”
Maybe they should start, I think darkly.
“We’re lucky this town’s more Mayberry than Redhaven. Seriously, I’ve heard that place has more murders than people,” Margot says lightly.
Mrs. Solomon laughs in agreement.
They gab on about some little town in North Carolina I’ve never heard of, ruled by a creepy family with an iron fist, and a few gory cases that made national news.
Soon, Mrs. Solomon continues on her way, and I start moving us along the path again.
“Was that intentional? Trying to flush out some weirdness by mentioning that Redhaven place?”
“Yep. Sounds like nothing too weird’s been going on lately,” Margot murmurs with relief.
“Not by the sound of it, no. Worth it to follow up with a few more people.”
“For sure.” She settles a little more firmly against me, relaxing a little.
Half an hour ago, she panicked at being on a horse, but now she’s perched in front of me like a pro.
I try not to feel too smug, or shamelessly horny.
She keeps up the relentless chatter as we pass through the streets, stopping every few blocks to greet someone else.
Somehow, she always knows the locals from the tourists—and their faces must be branded into her brain. She greets the townspeople by memory.
It usually takes them a second to recognize her.
Odd how much she must’ve changed since she was a little girl, while this town stayed frozen in time.
But the second they place her or hear the name Blackthorn, they start treating her like she’s a celebrity.
Sometimes their curious gazes land on me, but few people ask.
Margot basks in the attention, drinking it in. But I think it’s more for their benefit than her own ego.
Guess it’s expected from a place that clearly revered Leonidas Blackthorn.
But did the old man have any enemies?
That question lingers on my mind.
It’s rare for a billionaire real estate mogul who lived like a king to win nothing but respect. People are petty as hell, jealous by nature, and in all his years, he likely stepped on a few toes to keep his empire.
Still, no one mentions anything out of the ordinary.
After we’ve trotted through the town’s main drag on our horses, we stop by a park and what looks like another pop-up market.
Is every little town this spontaneous or are they just showing off?
Then I get a good whiff of the food from a couple nearby food trucks, and my skepticism dies on the spot.
Seafood.
Lobster rolls, fried clam strips, and crabcakes spritzed with lemon.
My stomach growls like a lion, a reminder that we haven’t eaten since breakfast.
Dan pulls his pony to a halt, sliding off the saddle like he was born for it.
The pony bends down and starts grazing on grass, unbothered by the laughing crowd swarming around, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm day.
“We can stop here, right, Dad?” he asks.
“Yeah. Good place to take a breather.” I swing my leg up and over from behind Margot, sliding to the ground before I extend a hand to her. “You good?”
Her eyes flick from my face to the hand I’m holding out and she smiles. “Thanks. Such a gentleman.”
“I’ve got you.”