Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“Thank my mom. She taught me three recipes before I left home. Eggs, grilled cheese, and how not to burn water.”
That got a smile out of her. Small, but real. She ate another bite. Drank some coffee. The tension in her shoulders started to loosen, little by little.
I let her eat in silence for a while. The morning light had strengthened, turning the stripes on the bed to solid bars of gold. Outside, the compound was coming awake. Someone’s bike rumbled to life in the parking lot below and a door slammed out in the hall somewhere.
When her plate was half empty, I said, “Tell me about Brett.”
Her fork stopped midway to her mouth. She set it down carefully. “What about him?”
“However much you want to tell me.” I knew she was ready to bolt the second she could, and I wanted to prolong her visit as much as I wanted her to finish her breakfast. For some reason, taking care of her seemed the most important thing I had to do.
She took a long drink of coffee. Set the mug down and turned it between her hands. “He’s just a guy. A jerk, but harmless. He’s some kind of big shot real estate agent to the rich and powerful in Nashville. I guess he’s good at his job but bad at relationships.” She shrugged. The movement was too casual to be genuine. “We were together two years. He moved into my place after my grandmother died and helped me through some stuff. Then last night he decided I was too much and not enough, all at the same time, and dumped me over pork chops.” She looked up with a bitter smile.
“Too much and not enough,” I repeated.
“Yeah. You know. Needy but boring. Emotional but predictable.” She picked up her fork again and pushed eggs around the plate. “Standard breakup script for a guy who’s already got his next girlfriend lined up.”
“And the blonde at Throttle?”
“Apparently the next girlfriend.” She looked up at me then and her smile softened into genuine thanks. “But he got the message last night, thanks to you. Trust me. He won’t be back, and I sincerely appreciate your help.”
I’d seen men like Brett before. Men who built their self-worth on having women they could diminish. Very likely he needed to be the smartest person in every room and couldn’t stand it when someone else held the floor. Men like that called women emotional when they actually meant they didn’t like being held accountable.
Brett wasn’t harmless. No man who made a woman feel lesser-than just to boost his own ego was ever harmless. But she wasn’t ready to hear that and pushing it would only make her defensive. And shorten the time I got to spend with her.
“He ever put hands on you?” I asked, giving her an intense look I hoped made her afraid to lie to me.
She shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. Just words.” She looked off. “Lots and lots of words.” With a sigh, she set her fork down. “I’m not some damsel in distress, Inferno. I picked a fight with him at Throttle because I was pissed, not because I was scared.”
“I know.” I reached across the table and touched the back of her hand. I needed to see her smile again. This subdued, almost defeated version of Juniper made me physically ache, and I rubbed the center of my chest absently as I cleared my throat. “You picked a fight with me too, remember? Hopping on my lap like you owned the place.”
That got a real laugh out of her. The sound filled the room and lessened the band around my chest somewhat. Her shoulders dropped another inch. “God, that was bold. I still can’t believe I did that.”
“Believe it.” I finished my coffee. “You’ve got a pair on you, birthday girl. I respect that.”
While she finished eating, we sat in comfortable silence. She reached for my jacket, still draped over the chair where she’d left it last night, and dug through the pockets. Her phone came out. The screen was dark.
“I turned it off before I left for Throttle and forgot about it.”
I nodded. “Probably a good call.”
She held the phone but didn’t power it on. Just turned it over and over between her fingers, watching the light catch on the case. Her thumb hovered over the power button. Didn’t press it.
The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable but weighted. She was thinking about what would be waiting for her when that screen lit up. I could see it in the set of her jaw, the way her fingers tightened around the edges of the phone.
Finally, she sighed. “I’m not sure what I want more. For him to have messaged me or for me to turn it on and there’s… nothing.”