Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Me: What are you doing?
Hartley: Feeding Pigasso.
A picture of the piglet smiling up at the camera pops up on my screen. It makes me laugh.
Me: I knew you’d be friends.
Hartley: I figured we may as well become friendly since you’d forget to try to find a rescue.
Me: Oops.
Hartley:
Me: In my defense, I have had a lot going on over the past few days. I’m getting married, you know.
Hartley: I heard about that.
Me: Did you?
Hartley: Sure did. From every damn person I saw this evening. The people who I didn’t see? I heard it via text.
My laughter grows louder as I wonder how many people that includes.
Hartley: I was thinking that it might quiet down the locals a bit if I took my fiancée on a date before our wedding. They’ve never really seen us together, and it might take some wind out of their speculation.
I take a seat at the little table Markie keeps on the back deck as my body begins to tingle. I’m sure it’s from the tequila. But tequila doesn’t usually make me smile like this.
Me: That makes sense. It might be good for your fiancée, too. It’d be a practice run, if you will.
Hartley: There’s gonna be a band in the park tomorrow evening around six. They have live music there every Tuesday unless it rains. Wanna go?
Me: Sounds fun.
Hartley: I’ll pick you up at 5:45.
Me: I’ll see you then.
Hartley: See you then, Mira.
I stare at his message until the screen locks.
It’s wild how safe and dangerous he feels at the same time. I don’t know if my pulse is warning me away from this, or if it wants to gallop toward him.
Probably both.
“Keep your eyes on the prize,” I say, heading inside the house. “This is to satisfy an inheritance. Nothing more. Keep your damn heart out of it.”
The door swings shut behind me, echoing through the night.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Mira
“Don’t you dare think about opening that door,” Hartley says, grinning at me from the driver’s seat of his truck.
I pull my hand away from the handle. “I apologize for the audacity.”
“As you should.”
He gets out, straightening his shirt as he moves around the front of the vehicle. A woman nearly trips over her own feet as she ogles him walking by her. It’s wholly satisfying that he doesn’t even glance her way.
“My lady,” he says, opening my door. He offers me a hand, which I promptly take if for no other reason than to remind the women milling about the park that this man is mine. Who knew pretending could be so fun? “I need to grab something from the bed. Hang on just a sec.”
I watch as he fiddles around in the back of his truck, admiring the way his biceps fill out the black fabric of his long-sleeved T-shirt.
“There we go.” He extracts a picnic basket and blanket and then shuts the tailgate. “Ready?”
I lift a brow, grinning. “A picnic? I thought we were just here for music.”
“Well, you thought wrong.” He grins back and stops inches in front of me. His scent is warm and addictive—less like cologne, and more like temptation wrapped in enough safety to make me reckless, if I’m not careful. “People are watching, so we should probably hold hands.”
My eyes grow wide for a split second, but I’m quick to catch myself. “Of course.”
His palm slips against mine, and our fingers lace together. His skin is calloused and hard against my overly moisturized hands. The contact sends shock waves barreling through my body, ending at my toes. Holding his hand was always one of my favorite things. The way his fingers fold across mine and gently press into my skin? I’ve never felt more protected than when I’m connected to him in this way.
Hartley leads me to the center of the park where the band is warming up. Children run carefree, playing tag and hide-and-go-seek. Adults sit on blankets and in lawn chairs with coolers and red wagons by their side. We collect twelve congratulations before we find an open, fairly private spot near the edge of the grass.
“Are you doing okay?” Hartley asks, taking his hand from mine. Instantly, I miss the contact. “Can you hold the basket?”
“Sure.” I take it so he can spread the blanket on the ground. It’s cream colored with faint yellow knots in the center of each square. “This is so pretty.”
“I’ve had it forever,” he says, taking the basket and placing it on the blanket. “I think it might’ve been Cathy’s.”
We sit next to each other as the band starts playing.
“I love that Cathy and Bobby still work for you,” I say, tossing my hair over my shoulder.
“They’re like family.”
He stretches his long legs out in front of him while looking over his shoulder at me. Without a hat casting shadows across his face, his eyes are brighter. Gold flecks kiss the deep brown irises like someone spilled glitter in them. They’re beautiful.