Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
He laughs, low and easy. “You’re welcome, coffee girl.”
He sits, and I set the bag and drinks on the coffee table. I fold myself onto the opposite end and reach for one of the chocolate cream donuts.
“So,” I say, voice way too bright. “Are we going to make this an everyday thing?”
He looks at me for a long, terrifying moment, and I expect him to drop some life-altering bombshell, but instead he says, “God. I hope so. Last night was the best night I’ve had in years.” He lifts the kolache, splits it in half, and offers me half.
“Me too,” I admit as we eat, which is to say, I demolish half the food, and he watches me with a kind of fascinated reverence. I am acutely aware of every bite, every crumb that falls onto my leggings. When I reach for a napkin, he grabs it first and dabs the corner of my mouth.
“You missed a spot,” he says, his thumb lingering on my lip.
My mouth goes dry. “Thanks.”
There’s a weird, electric silence filling the room. I’m actually a little startled when Gabe leans back and smiles. “There’s an art festival downtown today,” he says. “A bunch of galleries are doing pop-up exhibits, and there’s a live mural competition. I thought it might be fun to check it out. If you want.”
I blink at him. “You want to go to a public event with me. In the daylight. Where people can see us.”
“I don’t give a fuck who sees us.” He scoots closer to me. “I just want to spend the day with you.
Wow. Just wow
“I’d love to,” I say, because apparently I can’t say no to him.
We take the elevator down to the lobby. Gabe’s hand finds mine, warm and strong, and it just feels right.
He leads me toward a waiting car, but not a limo this time—just two sleek, black SUVs with tinted windows idling at the curb.
I glance over my shoulder and notice two giant men in matching sunglasses trailing us. “Friends of yours?”
Gabe doesn’t even look back. “Security detail. Don’t mind them.”
“Are you in danger?” I ask, only half-joking. I know most billionaires have a whole security team, but I’ve never really known someone so rich.
He squeezes my hand and glances down to wink at me. “Only my heart.”
Oh, wow. He has to stop saying things like that.
He helps me into the passenger seat and runs around to slide into the driver’s seat. Wow. The two security guys hop in the SUV behind us. Gabe drives the SUV through Worthington Hills, which is currently buzzing with weekend energy. Banners for the art festival flap from every streetlamp, and there’s a steady flow of families, college kids, and elderly couples streaming toward Main Street. We park a few blocks away to “get the full experience,” according to Gabe, and as soon as we step onto the sidewalk, he offers me his arm.
God, he’s ridiculous. And I love it.
We stroll through the crowd, and it’s so normal, so weirdly domestic, that I almost forget who I’m with.
The art festival is everything I hoped for and more. Booths line both sides of the street, selling everything from watercolor pet portraits to blown-glass frogs. A local jazz band plays in the gazebo, and the air is thick with the smell of kettle corn and the faintest hint of cotton candy.
Gabe is into all of it. He asks questions at every booth, wants to know how things are made, and what inspired the artist. He watches me as I inspect the art.
At one point, Gabe disappears for a minute and comes back with a tote bag full of art prints and a bouquet of sunflowers. “For you,” he says, holding them out like it’s nothing.
I stare at the flowers, then at him. “Thank you.” His gesture melts my freaking heart into a puddle.
We spend hours at the festival, sampling everything, listening to music, and generally acting like a normal couple on a normal Saturday. I don’t know when I’ve ever felt this happy, or this safe. Every time I catch Gabe looking at me, he has that same soft, awestruck look—like he’s still surprised I exist.
Eventually, the sun starts to dip, and the crowd thins out. My feet hurt, and my arms are full of flowers and prints and a slightly creepy hand-painted mug.
“Are you ready to head back?” Gabe asks, but I can tell he’s already plotting something.
We stroll back to the car in easy silence. At one point, I glance back and catch the security guys lagging a few yards behind, watching us like a hawk.
“Can I ask you something?” I say as we reach the car.
“Anything.”
“Is this… normal for you? Doing things like this?”
He takes a long time to answer. “No,” he says finally. “It’s not. But with you, it feels like it could be.”