Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“I get that, and I don’t blame you.”
“Also, they can’t say I didn’t try.” I let out a breath and kiss the top of Sampson’s head when he rests back against me.
“All right, here are your drinks,” Margret announces, sliding a Sprite in front of me and a Coke across to Blake. “Your food should be ready soon.” She plops down in the booth next to her brother and glances between us. “So what are you young ’uns up to today? Anything fun?” She nudges Blake in the side. “Stop frowning.”
“After lunch, I was thinking about taking Sampson to the park near my parents’ house,” I cut in when he turns his frown on her.
“Are you going with her?” She looks at Blake, and his eyes meet mine.
“You can come if you want. Mostly, I just chase Sampson around.”
“We could do that, or we could go to my friend’s place. He and his wife own a farm not far from here, and they have a couple of alpacas, pigs, goats, and cows.”
“Really?” I ask, and he shrugs.
“Look at you two, making plans.” Margret sighs happily, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on the top of her hands. “And what about dinner? What are you guys doing for dinner?”
“Margret.” He shakes his head, and she smiles at him, then me.
“Blake loves pizza, but not just any pizza. The buffalo pizza from Rosco’s on Main. I think that’s near your parents’ house.”
“Margret,” he repeats, and she ignores him and continues.
“Tomorrow, you should come to dinner at our parents’ house. My mom’s making her killer meatloaf, and the kids could play together.”
“You just don’t know when to stop, do you?” He lets out an annoyed breath.
“Stop what?” she asks her brother while batting her lashes. “Everly and I are friends, and as a friend, I’m inviting her to our parents’ house for dinner,” she tells him, then gets up. “I need to go check on my tables. I’m hoping to leave this afternoon with enough money to pay my car payment this month.”
When she bounces away, Blake glares at her back, and I press my lips together to keep from laughing. It’s obvious that Margret is a force of nature, and when she gets something in her head, there is no stopping her.
“You don’t have to come to my parents’ for dinner.” He clears his throat. “Unless you want to come; then you’re more than welcome. My mom would be happy to have you and Sampson around.”
“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” I tell him, watching his brow furrow as I take the bottle from Sampson and rub his back. “Plus, my parents are going to be coming home tomorrow, so I should probably try to get some stuff done around the house.”
“You’re not going to make me uncomfortable,” he says, and it would be easier to believe him if he wasn’t still frowning. “You should join us.”
“I’ll think about it,” I reply softly, and he lifts his chin slightly, then reaches for Sampson to help him across to sit on his lap once more.
“And I’m serious about going to my friend’s farm after lunch, if you wanna do that.”
“I would like that,” I say, and he seems to visibly relax.
A moment later, our lunch arrives, and he and I take turns feeding Sampson bites of food from a small plate Margret brings over. When we’re done, he pays the tab, even though I try.
When we leave the Root, we decide it will be easier to leave his truck behind, so we take my car to his friend’s property, which happens to be in the middle of a valley with views of the mountains and blue skies as far as the eye can see. As we arrive, we find Sampson asleep, so instead of going to explore the farm, we pull a blanket from my trunk—one I forgot when moving—and take it to a field of yellow and white wildflowers.
Then, with Sampson napping, the sun shining, I spend the afternoon with Blake. And Lord help me, but I know I’m screwed, because I totally have a crush on my complicated, frustrating, and absolutely endearing boss.
Chapter 8
BLAKE
With the sound of kids laughing and parents chatting around me, I stand with my arms crossed over my chest on the edge of the little kids’ play area at the park, my eyes on Sampson. When he woke up from his nap while we were still at the farm, we took him to see the cows, but we found out quickly that he wanted nothing more than to run, so Everly suggested that we move to the park, where it would be safer for him. With him being so little and still so unstable on his feet, it’s difficult not to hover even now, especially with other kids who don’t seem to understand the definition of personal space.