Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Even though early spring has brought heat and life to the flowers outside, the room is a little chilly. The threat of a frosty turn in the weather remains, and we’re still using the fireplaces as if it’s winter. I always enjoy the aesthetic and calming flames of a fireplace.
Natalie shivers a little in her stolen sweater and her jogging pants, and I can see that the fire has nearly gone out in the opposite room.
“You know,” I say quietly. “It’s cold because the fire went out.”
“Really?” Natalie asks me sarcastically, looking up at me with tired, green eyes. “Why thank you, Einstein, I had no idea.”
“Well, you haven’t stoked the hearth,” I point out, going over to do it myself.
“I’m too cold,” Natalie answers, and she holds her coffee like it's a lifeline.
“Not fixing the fireplace is counterproductive to that,” I tell her.
“I thought you had workers or something that would do it eventually,” Natalie says with a sour face. “Don’t you have house staff or something like that?”
“I don’t make them come in until seven,” I tell her. “You have about thirty minutes.”
The early morning sunlight pours in through the small stained glass window above the sink, softening the image of the kitchen in the near-dark of the morning. My feet move over the floor in my socks, and Nat looks up at me from where she’d been staring into her mug intently, her familiar green eyes bleary and tired on her face.
Her eyebrows pull together, scrutinizing me.
I don’t like her scrutiny, so I turn to fix myself a cup of coffee.
“I don’t like butter pecan,” I say, though it doesn’t bother me that much.
I pour a small cup of the butter pecan but use more half-and-half and two sugars in my cup to cut the taste. I know Natalie takes it black. I can hear her taking a sip while I’m pouring my cup.
“And I don’t like not knowing if my brother is dating someone,” Natalie says in a sharp tone. I turn with my cup, and she says, “Is she the real deal, Grey?”
“What are you doing up so early, Nat? You should be resting,” I answer instead, trying to get her off of my scent, but she’s determined to get in my business.
“I could ask you the same question,” she says with one red eyebrow raised, trying to sound more confident than she is. “Where is she now, Grey?”
I let out a sigh, standing at the sink. I take a sip of my coffee but it’s too sweet for me. “I want her, Nat. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Thank you,” she says, looking at me in a surprised sort of way when I turn to glance at her. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”
I shrug. “I figure that I owe you that much after yesterday.”
“She’s really pretty,” Natalie says matter-of-factly. “She looks good with you.”
“I think so too,” I tell her evenly. Inside though, I’m glad she approves.
I sit down at the table with my sister, watching my coffee as it swirls in the mug. I can feel Natalie looking at me, and I know she wants to say something. She won’t admit anything until I start the conversation, though; I know how she is. She wants some give with her take, she’s like our dad in that way.
“Why didn’t you sleep?” I ask her because it’s very obvious that she didn’t.
Natalie tenses up. “I kept imagining someone was breaking into the house.”
“Nat, we’re safe here, and you know that,” I tell her, shaking my head.
I stand and walk to the big couch in the living room, pulling off a blanket and heading back to the kitchen. I put it over her shoulders, and she looks surprised.
“Thank you,” she says, nodding. “Grey, they attacked you in the middle of a known, filled restaurant. What the hell did you do to make the Goblins come after you? It seemed fine before; at least they didn’t care about you.”
“They always cared because I took away potential profit from them,” I correct her, taking a sip of my coffee. “They were just always too scared to do something about it. They didn’t want a war on their own turf, and I have as much right to be there as they do.”
“You’ve been there longer than they have,” Natalie points out, shivering.
The fire is roaring in the living room, sending waves of warmth into the kitchen and the hallway. She’s afraid, though, not really cold – even if she won’t admit it.
“It doesn’t matter to a family like the Godwins,” I tell her, drinking my coffee thoughtfully. “In their minds, they own the streets, and I’m a thief.”
“I wonder what set them off, though?” Natalie ponders. “I mean, it’s been years, and they’ve never openly tried to defy or hurt you in any way.”