Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
I don’t care enough to be self-conscious about the place. Besides, I love this cottage with its eclectic furniture and lived-in charm. It’s home.
I check the cupboards in the kitchen first, wincing at how bare they are. I’d planned to make it to Kendal tomorrow or the next day for a big grocery haul. I hadn’t realized things were this bad.
I grab a box of crackers and then, in the refrigerator, I root through useless ingredients until I land on some goat cheese and jam. A jar of olives, some pickles—I grab it all. I set everything out on the counter and stare down at it like an idiot.
This is all the food I have to offer her?
If I’d known she was coming, I would have saved some of the pesto pasta I made for dinner, but that’s long gone, and I don’t have the ingredients to make more. I start layering cheese and crackers on the plate, though there’s no sense in making it look fancy. I’m not fooling anyone here.
I hear her up there, showering. While I had my head in the fridge, she came down for her things. I should have helped her carry it all up, but I’m being stubborn about her presence. My dad would give me an earful if he knew how I was treating this woman, but what am I supposed to do? She’s the enemy! I can’t be nice to her. I want her gone, immediately.
The shower cuts off, and I only now realize I didn’t give her a spare towel. She’ll have to use mine to dry off. Damn. I’m really failing at this.
A few minutes later, she pads down the stairs wearing the red pajamas I spied earlier. They look soft. White buttons run down the front, and the pants skim her bare feet. She needs socks. She’ll be frozen over soon. Her hair is damp and brushed straight, but already the ends are starting to curl. Her face is fresh and clean now. It probably feels good to have showered after her long travel day.
I wet my bottom lip. “Sorry I didn’t leave you a towel.”
“I used yours,” she says with pink cheeks. She can’t look me in the eyes when she says it.
To be fair, the food is probably hard to look away from. It looks like a toddler has attempted to make an adult dinner. I’ve spread cheese and jam onto the crackers. The pickles and olives sit in a sad heap off to the left.
“Apologies.”
“No.” She shakes her head vehemently as she steps farther into the kitchen and smiles. “This is great. Girl dinner.”
I have no idea what she’s on about. “Girl dinner?”
She shrugs and laughs. “Yeah, like what women eat when their husbands aren’t home and they can get away with eating whatever they want.”
My frown says I’m no closer to understanding, so she gives up.
“I have wine,” I say, like that might be the fix we need.
Her eyes light up. “I’d love some wine.” Then she hurries to add, “But only if you were going to have some. Don’t open it just for me.”
I wasn’t planning on having any tonight, but my tea is definitely cold by now and I don’t care to make another cup. Wine it is.
I have a case of cabernet I bought when I was in France over the summer. I spent the month of May traveling through the country by train, stopping at vineyards, learning about the various regions, putting off the inevitable…
She watches me retrieve a bottle from a rack near the kitchen table. Neither of us says anything as I uncork it and spill heaping amounts into two glasses.
“Nice pour,” she says with a light laugh.
“Figured we might need it.”
Her finger brushes mine as she accepts the glass and then she nods toward the living room. “If I promise to be careful, could I take my food in there? That fire is calling my name.”
“You need socks and a sweater.”
She looks down at her bare feet like she’s embarrassed by them. “Yeah…mine got wet outside. Even the hems of my pajama pants are a little damp.”
Bloody hell. Of course, how could I forget that?
With a shake of my head, I rush off to the stairs, taking them two at a time. From the chest of drawers inside my room, I grab a thick pair of wool socks, and from my closet, I grab an old college sweatshirt.
Summer is curled up on my chair when I make it back downstairs.
My chair.
Half an hour ago, that would have been one misstep too far. I would have unceremoniously dumped her out of it onto the floor, but fortunately, I’ve regained my manners for the time being.
“Here.”
She looks up to see what I’m handing her, and I spot some jam on the left side of her lip. She’s eaten most of the crackers. She must have been really hungry.