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)
It only takes a couple of minutes to make it to the office on Main Street—something I’m thankful for when the wind picks up and snow starts to fall harder. After I get inside, I turn the OUT TO LUNCH sign around, take off my jacket and hat, and flip on the lights. Dad’s office is small, consisting of just three rooms: the entry—which has a desk facing the front door, along with a small couch and coffee station set up for clients—a restroom, and my dad’s office, which is at the back.
Figuring I should be in the front in case someone does come in, I make myself comfortable at Sandy’s desk, and a stained glass–framed photo next to the computer catches my eye. I pick it up to get a better look and spot Sandy with her gray hair and wide smile, standing in the middle of a large group of happy-looking people, and I wonder if it’s her family.
As I scan the photo more closely, a really good-looking guy with blondish hair snags my attention. Biting my lip, I wonder who he is, then glance up when the door to the office is opened. I gasp when the guy I was just staring at steps into the office like I conjured him up. I’m stunned by his presence, and the frame in my hands slips through my fingers and sounds like it shatters when it hits the ground. I panic, bending quickly to pick it up, then cry out when I hit my forehead on the edge of the desk with enough force that I see stars.
“Shit,” the guy says as I cover my forehead with my hand and roll the chair back into the wall behind me, barely catching myself before I tumble out of the chair. “Easy.” His warm hand takes hold of my wrist, and a zing shoots up my arm. I blink my eyes open as my hand is tugged away, and my heart starts to race as our eyes meet and I see him frowning at me.
“I’m okay.” I try to tug my wrist from his grasp, but his hold is firm as beautiful sea-green eyes scan my face.
“You’re not bleeding,” he says quietly as his other hand comes up, and his thumb smooths over my forehead, causing a shiver to slide down my spine. “But you’re going to have a bump if you don’t put some ice on this.” He lets me go, and I’m oddly disappointed when he steps back, taking his warmth and scent with him, then beyond confused when he heads for the door and walks out without another word.
“Did that just happen?” I blink at the empty space he was just standing in, the headache I feel coming on the only reason I know I’m not dreaming. With a shake of my head, I start to carefully pick up the broken pieces of glass from the frame, which I hope isn’t a priceless family heirloom but from one of the shops here in town.
Just when I’ve gotten all of it cleaned up and the photo tucked away, someone knocks on the office door right before it opens again.
“I didn’t want to startle you again.” The guy from before steps inside, holding a small white bag in one hand and a cup in the other.
“Oh.” I try to think of something more to say as he places the cup and bag on the side of the desk and slips off his jacket, leaving him in a green thermal that’s molded to his fit torso.
“Have a seat,” he orders, motioning to the chair next to me while opening the bag and pulling out a small bottle of pain reliever and a piece of fabric. As he takes the lid off the cup, dumps a handful of ice onto the piece of cloth, and twists the end, I wonder if I really am dreaming. “Babe.” His gaze meets mine, and I open and close my mouth like a fish out of water, trying to get my brain and mouth to work in unison. “Please sit.”
I stumble to the chair and sit, then watch him prowl around the side of the desk to me. How didn’t I notice before how big he is? Not only is he tall, but his shoulders are wide enough for me to fit between them twice. His legs are the size of tree trunks, and he looks like he could bench-press me without breaking a sweat, and I’m not a tiny girl.
“Hold this to your head while I get you some water.” He gently places the ice pack against my forehead, then lifts my hand to take over, like I’m a helpless child.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I tell him quietly as he goes to the small fridge under the coffee station and pulls out a bottle of water.