Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Yes, that’s where we’re heading. I manage the property. It’s up ahead on the right. Drive with care this time.”
“Will—You got to be shittin’ me.” Snapping his fingers, he points over my shoulder. “You’re Daniel Sutton.”
I turn so fast to look at Daniel that my thoughts take longer to catch up. His eyes are secured to mine with some unreadable emotion trapped inside. Fear? Nah, what would he be afraid of? Remorse? We don’t know each other well enough to have regrets yet. Do we? Disappointment? It’s the only one I can’t justify my way out of defending him.
The emotion isn’t aimed at me, but more revolving through his expression in himself.
“Daniel Sutton, right?” The guy chirps at him in an annoying tone. “Am I right?”
He doesn’t sound like someone who’s run into an old friend. This is different. His tone is too excited, bordering on starstruck.
I turn back toward the van, staring at the peeling emblem on the door, and so badly wanting to pick at it. I should know everything about the man standing behind me. He filled out a profile. Did I need details like marriage status or profession? No. Those felt personal and not necessary to accomplish my job. Name, how many adults, how many kids, favorite foods, what to stock, activities they want to do while here, dates of arrival and departure, and can they afford the fees. That is all the information I need.
So why do I feel like this plumber has blindsided me?
I hear the crunch of the dirt and rocks under his shoes and the heat of his hand on my lower back as he comes closer. “Hey man, I’m trying to spend some time with my son and would appreciate the privacy. Do you think you could keep this between us?”
When I tilt my gaze up, the guy looks at me and then Daniel again before he sits back. “Sure, man. Could I trouble you for a photo and autograph, though?”
Autograph?
Oh my God. I slap my hand to my forehead as the big picture comes together. That’s why Dolly’s been acting like a fangirl. Because she is a fan. How does she know who he is, and I don’t?
Who is Daniel Sutton?
Apparently, someone famous enough to be recognized in the middle of my nowhere town of Mountain Laurel Cove by someone just looking at him.
Mortification rises like blooming dough inside my chest and forms a lump in my throat.
Daniel replies, “I’ll hook you up at the house ahead. We’ll meet you there.”
“I was dreading driving out here, but it’s my lucky day.” He pulls away, leaving us to watch as he turns off onto the driveway in the distance.
Neither of us has moved. I feel too dumb to even say anything, much less dare to look into his eyes when he knows I didn’t recognize him.
His hand slides up my back and cups my shoulder. “Summer?”
With my head hanging down, I shake it. “I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t.”
“Tell me how to make it go away, and I will.”
Coming around to the front of me, he lifts my chin until our eyes meet. “I liked that you didn’t know who I was. You treated me . . . like me, like someone normal instead of a celebrity.”
“I don’t know what you’re famous for. I just feel so foolish, like the wool was pulled over my eyes and now the truth has been revealed, leaving me a laughingstock—”
“The truth is revealed, but if it makes any sense, I wish it hadn’t been. It felt good to get to know you without my world being a part of it or having an opinion on my love life.” He walks onto the road and stops with his hands grasped behind his head. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us.”
“It changes everything. I don’t know anything about the real you—”
“This is the real me, Summer. I’m still the same Daniel standing in front of you.” His eyes search mine with a plea pulling his brows together.
A horn honks in the distance, causing us both to look in the direction of the cottage. I take a breath. “I can’t keep him waiting. I need to take care of this.”
“Promise me we’ll talk when he’s gone.”
“What is there to talk about? You’re some famous . . .” I throw my arms up in the air. “I don’t even know why or how you’re famous. That’s how messed up this is. It feels crappy to be the butt of this joke.” I start walking because the anxiety of keeping the plumber waiting is building.
I don’t get ten feet from him before he says, “Daniel Sutton. Thirty-five. Dad of Roman.” My breath catches, causing me to stop. I don’t turn back. I can’t, or my emotions will get the best of me. “Professional hockey player for the Brooklyn Breakaways. I play right wing. I live in Manhattan in a penthouse because I thought that would make me feel important. I hate it. I hate being so isolated from the world. I travel too much and go home or to the hotel alone. Most nights. I’ve never been in a serious relationship because all I care about is my career, which is currently on the verge of being ripped out from under me if I don’t fix some shit about my life.”