Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“A lot? Overbearing? Treat you like a child?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess. All that.”
“She makes me crazy! Sometimes I just want to…to… Well, I don’t know what I want to do because I know it comes from the heart. They’re stupid, I think.”
Curious, I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and asked, “What are?”
“Hearts. They’re very complicated and make things a lot messier than they need to be. At least, that’s what I’ve witnessed in other people.”
There was an uncomfortable heaviness in my chest. I understood what he was saying. That muscle had caused a whole lot of difficulty in my life. “I agree.”
“Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.
“Ouch.”
Milo frowned. “I didn’t mean… Was that rude? It was a legitimate question of why, not because I don’t want you here. I’m not saying I do either because I don’t even know you.”
I smiled. Jesus, this guy. What was it about him? “No, it wasn’t rude. I like that you say what you’re thinking. I came over to see if there’s anything I can help with. I’m not sure what your plans for the store are, but if you need a ride to your hotel or whatever, I can do that.” Basically, I’d help him today or any other day was what I was trying to say, but suddenly I couldn’t seem to speak coherently.
He cocked his head slightly. His auburn hair was short and styled neatly. He didn’t run his hands through it like I did. Somehow, I knew that wasn’t something Milo ever did when he was uncomfortable or unsure. Freckles danced across his nose and cheekbones. He had wide doe eyes, the color of the sky on a perfect spring day, and apparently the ability to inspire poetry-like thoughts because I sure as shit didn’t usually think of things that way.
He bit into his bottom lip, not trying to be sexy even though it was. He was thinking, dissecting, trying to figure me out. I had a feeling that was how Milo looked at the whole world, trying to sort through it and put things into different boxes. I didn’t mean in a judgmental way, just an organized one, so he knew where everything fit.
“I’m very hungry,” he said, “and I’ve been told I go from hungry to hangry at the drop of a hat—strange saying, don’t you think? I don’t really get it. Do people drop hats often? Where did it come from? I’ll look it up tonight and tell you next time I see you.”
An unfamiliar flutter danced around in my gut, something that felt like…happiness? Enjoyment? I didn’t know. Milo was just fun. “We can do it right now.” I pulled out my phone, but he shook his head.
“We’ll look it up at dinner because I’m tilting slightly more toward hangry. I guess I could walk, but I don’t know where to go.” A flare of what looked like panic flashed in his eyes, like maybe it just hit him he’d traveled to a town he didn’t know and wasn’t sure how to deal with that.
“I’m an expert on food. I can put a whole hell of a lot of it away.”
“You have a great body, though. You don’t look like you eat too much.”
“This old thing?” I winked. “Glad you like it. I was blessed with a fast metabolism. Let’s lock up and head out.”
“Should I leave my bags here? Will we come back before you take me to my hotel?”
“We’re walking to dinner. We’ll come back for them.” I appreciated that he was spending time with me, that he was willing to go have dinner and let me take him back to his room. It was maybe a silly thing to feel grateful over because technically it was me helping him, but I couldn’t help wondering how typical this was for him. Or if, for whatever reason, Milo trusted me.
He nodded, shoved his phone into his pocket, and grabbed his keys. I went out first and waited for Milo to lock the bookstore.
He fell into step beside me, both of us quiet for a moment. There were people out and about, a few saying hi, others calling me by name, and all looking at Milo and wondering who he was…or wondering about his mom’s history with Wilma Allen. How had she never told anyone Beverly was her daughter?
“People here stare a lot,” he said, making me chuckle.
“It’s because you’re new. Small towns are like that. Where are you from?”
“San Diego. Why do you wear flip-flops?”
My head snapped toward him at the strange change of subject. “Um…I don’t know. I don’t always. Is something wrong with my feet?”
He shrugged. “No, I suppose as far as feet go, they’re nice. I’m not really a foot person, but yours aren’t glaringly bad or anything. It’s not like I’ve never seen anyone wear flip-flops. I see it all the time, I just don’t get it. It’s bizarre…showing them in public. And the part between your toes, how is that not the most uncomfortable thing in the world?”