Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
The other—Ben he was told—with the jet-black beard, and wearing a gray and brown bomber hat, relieved him of his garment bag covering his new sherpa-lined trench, and bag with his two pairs of boots.
“Sorry you had to stop your work,” Royal stammered a bit. “T-thanks though. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome, and no worries. We still got plenty daylight to finish the posts for the Christmas trees, Stone won’t be bringing the first batch over for another couple days.”
“Stone.” Royal perked up at the name, then hurried and lowered his tone, “Yeah, I’ve met him.”
Ben and Mark both looked at him strangely.
“Yep, he’s our boss. He’s a cool guy, laid-back, and not a ball-buster. He owns Stone Wood Carvings. We build all the stuff for the festival. It’ll keep us super busy all the way until New Years. It’s freaking huge, man, this town goes fucking crazy. You’ll see.”
The guys were about his age and spoke with more slang and curse words than the other people he’d met.
Once they got to the bed and breakfast they helped him all the way to his room.
“It was nice meeting you, man,” Mark spoke up. “There’s not much of a nightlife here, not like you’re probably used to, but we do have a pretty cool bar and grill, the Tin Tap about ten miles outside of town in Wickford.”
Royal grinned again—second time in thirty minutes—surprised but appreciative of the invite.
“Sure, thanks guys. I might check it out soon.”
“Cool,” they said and gave him a dap with a one-armed hug.
Royal closed his door and the first thing that crossed his mind was he whether Stone frequented the Tin Tap as well.
Stone
Stone was in the back of Rose’s bookstore, hammering nails into the wooden shelves, his hands steady despite the gnawing sense of unease stirring in his gut as thoughts continued to drift back to him.
The scent of sawdust and old paperback books filling the small store used to provide him with comfort many years ago, but now he struggled to enjoy it. The scent of Royal’s fine linens, expensive cologne—smelling like a fusion of luxury soap and citrus—still lingered in his senses.
Royal had just shown up yesterday, all slick duds and fancy boots, already had the town abuzz. People seemed to like his lost, unassuming, guarded nature. Those were the kind of strangers his town folks rallied around to comfort and make feel welcome.
He hated to admit he found Royal’s meekness very attractive. He was so beautiful and carried himself as if he had no clue that he was.
Something else that’d put Stone on red alert was when he’d guided Royal to Jessie’s place. He wanted to blame it on the town’s unwritten motto, to never leave a stranger to find his way alone. But the way Royal had stared up at him through those long lashes, the way his sad eyes lingered a little too long, had stirred feelings below his belt—sensations he hadn’t felt in over eight years.
The gentle chime of the door sounded over his head, indicating someone had entered the store. Stone didn’t look up, assuming it was one of the teenagers rushing in to see if Rose had gotten more graphic novels in stock.
But it wasn’t.
After a few seconds Stone heard the slow hesitant steps before Royal’s gentle voice floated towards him.
“Evening.”
“Oh hey! Welcome! I can’t believe you came,” Rose greeted cheerfully as if the damn president had popped into her place.
“You asked me if I liked to read, and I thought about it, I haven’t read anything but finance reports for the last two decades, so I really don’t know.”
“No worries. I’m certain I can help you find something,” Rose offered kindly. “What genre do you think you would like?”
There was a long pause, and Stone could feel his pulse quicken.
“Damn, I’m not sure.”
Royal’s New York accent was so fucking sexy. He spoke with all crisp consonants and relaxed sultry vowels. It had just the right hint of grit, mixed with an incomparable amount of intellect.
Stone’s hammer was heavy in his hand. He paused with it in midair as he closed his eyes and listened.
“Offhand, I’d think fiction—mystery, or historical.” Royal was quiet a long time before he murmured. “Um, maybe romance, too. Do you have any of those?”
Stone’s breath caught, and his dick seemed to like the way Royal all but whispered, “romance”.
“I sure do have that,” Rose said. “Come on back.”
Shit, shit, shit.
When Royal came into view, Stone almost swallowed his tongue. Gone was the designer coat and tailored slacks and in their place was more practical, normal wear.
His jacket was black suede with ivory, sherpa-lined fleece that he wore unzipped, showing his fitted light gray sweater, and midnight-colored scarf. Stone’s glare trailed down Royal’s denims that hugged his thighs to perfection, as if Wranglers had been specifically made for him, to his insulated winter hiking boots still stiff from newness.