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)
The kids are already unpacked in their rooms. This was supposed to be the break we needed, the kind I promised them for months.
But if Margot Blackthorn really is the new owner like she seems to be, that means she’s in charge.
Which should also mean she’s obliged to hold up her end of the contract I signed.
My brain works.
I’m no expert on rental agreements in the state of Maine.
Still, if she makes us vacate now, after the shit day I’ve had, it’s going to be a long haul back home in the car.
What other choice is there? Sleep in the vehicle?
Frustration curdles my breath.
“Mrs. Griffith assured me it was available.” I try to be gentle, though honestly, I don’t want Margot taking it up with her.
Mrs. Griffith is a nice old lady, and she’s also the wrong side of seventy. Exactly the type you’d expect to deal with in a small town like this for a last-minute rental off the beaten path.
If she’s behind this mistake, it was an honest one.
“I didn’t tell her I was coming up. I forgot.” Margot frowns. “Guess I didn’t realize she was still actively renting the place out.”
“And I didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to be.”
We stare at each other in shared confusion.
“Look,” I say, shaking my head. “Obviously, there’s been a mix-up.”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“But this was the only place available, Miss Blackthorn. That’s why I snapped it up in the first place, rather than staying down in Bar Harbor.”
All she does is blink at me. The silence, weighty and damn near suffocating.
She’s waiting for me to say something else incriminating or to justify our presence here. Or hell, maybe to say I’m going to pack up the kids and my bags this instant.
No chance.
If she’s going to evict us, she can ask properly.
Her name means nothing to me.
Margot Blackthorn can’t just sail in, snap her fingers, and throw us out when we had a legitimate agreement. And even if she can as New England royalty, I’m ready to put up a fight.
Her nostrils flare.
Her heart-shaped lips press together—dangerously seductive for a woman raking me over the coals.
She’s a tall woman, even without heels, and I’m sure she’s used to looking down on her problems.
Not today.
I’m not some cockroach she can step on, and neither are my kids.
I tower over her, and my eyes never flinch, locked on hers in a silent challenge.
Go ahead, rich girl. Make my day.
Make my whole damn year.
Then the front door whips open, startling everyone.
“What’s going on, Dad?” Dan calls, his arms full of more bags he’s pulled from the SUV I parked in the garage.
Odd that Miss Blackthorn must not have parked there or she would’ve realized she wasn’t alone.
My boy gawks at Margot, and her eyes flick from him back to Sophie again.
Familiar scene.
Most folks do a double take when they see them, like twins are a rare species. They’ve grown and developed into their genders as they’ve gotten older, yeah, but when they were little, they were almost identical.
Now, Sophie’s glasses and Daniel’s broad shoulders hide their similarities, along with the hair styles, but the resemblance is unmistakable.
Um, I thought there was only one of you? I can practically hear Margot’s thoughts.
“Oh.” She blinks again, wiping her expression clear. The microsecond shock she allows herself fades.
“Who’s she?” Dan sticks out his finger.
“Don’t point, Son. Not polite.”
“Excuse me for a sec. I need to make a call,” Margot says awkwardly, digging in her purse for her phone.
Whatever.
If she sees trouble, she’ll handle it like most billionaire’s spoiled granddaughters.
She’ll call someone and demand to know what the fuck is going on. Then they’ll bring out the big guns and evict us.
I just hope she’s not bothering Mrs. Griffith. Especially if the look in her eyes promising hot death is anything to go by.
Dan watches her strut away, bewildered as she exits through the back door to the kitchen. Then he notices the dust and splinters on Sophie’s clothes from the broken railing, and his eyes widen.
“Hey, what happened to you?”
“N-nothing. I’m fine,” she says defensively, pushing her glasses up her nose.
Also familiar. My girl’s embarrassed at having fallen, and even more embarrassed at falling on Miss Blackthorn.
The shoes make her self-conscious as hell, and her condition saps her confidence. If she stumbles like any kid her age, she always assumes the worst.
I fucking hate it.
“How’s the foot, Soph?” I glance at her right leg.
Her orthopedic shoes are huge, black, clunky things, but I’d like to think they do their job.
“I said I’m fine, Dad. Really.” She avoids my eyes.
My lips twist sourly.
She’s not limping, no, but that doesn’t mean jack shit.
She’s a proud girl for her age, and she’ll go to great lengths to play tough, even when she’s still my fragile hummingbird. At nine years old, she’s becoming an expert at hiding her limp.