Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 19169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
There’s a charm to the cabinets’ original wrought-iron hardware that you don’t see in new builds unless you’re willing to pay out the ass for country chic—a poor imitation, if you ask me. I’m hoping to woo prospective buyers with authentic country fixtures. I've been careful not to strip the place of all her charm as I work to bring her up to code.
It’s a real shame the house is too big for one man, because I’m starting to fall for her. Maybe if I thought a family was in my future, I might consider sticking around. But none of my efforts toward that end have panned out, and I bought this place knowing I wouldn’t be here forever. I figure it'll take a year, maybe two, to fix her up and flesh her out, before I list her for twice what I paid for the skeleton.
I’ve got my pants halfway down my legs when I hear the doorbell chime. Jaw clenching, I pull them back up with a sigh. I moved out here so I wouldn’t have to deal with random visitors. I wait, hoping the unwelcome guest on my doorstep will take the hint.
The doorbell rings again. I zip my fly and refasten my belt as I trudge through the house.
I wrench the door open. The words, “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested,” fly out of my mouth before I see who I’m talking to.
The girl on my doorstep blinks up at me, confused.
“I’m not selling anything,” she says. “I’m here about the room.”
My thoughts scatter like coeds scramming in the wake of someone shouting “Cops” at a kegger. I can’t do anything but breathe and stare at this unexpected visitor.
The curiosity in her wide-eyed gaze makes her look younger than she is, and there’s no way she’s a day over twenty. Her full, red lips curve hopefully, drawing my attention to her ruddy cheeks and pink-tipped nose.
A word flashes neon bright in my mind: adorable. She’s adorable. All bundled in a puffy white coat with faux-fur trim.
She cocks her head, causing her dark-brown hair to curl beneath her chin. Her dark eyes size me up in a familiar way that says she’s taking in my exceptional height and the way I fill up the doorframe.
“I said I’m here about the room...”
Finally, her words click into place. She’s not gawking at me ‘cause she thinks I’m a freak; she’s waiting for me to respond. I clear the tightness from my throat. “What room?”
The girl holds up her phone. “The one for rent.”
I squint at the small screen. It takes a second, but I recognize the photos of my home’s interior, taken when the house boasted a lot more furniture. I spot the date. The rental was listed over three months ago.
“The previous owner must’ve posted it,” I tell her. “I just bought this place.”
“Oh...” She frowns at her phone, and even though it doesn’t make an iota of sense, I feel her sinking disappointment in my own stomach like a penny tossed into a pond. “In that case, you wouldn’t happen to be interested in renting a room, would you?”
She says it like a half-hearted joke, but the optimism in her gaze is sincere.
“I, um...” I have no legitimate reason to want to help this girl. Legitimate being the operative word. She’s nobody to me, yet part of me wants to do whatever I can to flip her frown on its head.
“Never mind,” she says quickly. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
She turns to go.
“I’ve got a room,” I tell her.
The girl spins around. “Really?”
I take a step back from the doorway. As soon as the girl enters my home, my heart begins to hammer. I motion for her to follow me into the living room, where I’ve got most of my tools laid out on a tarp on the floor.
“She’s a fixer-upper,” I grumble.
“I can see that,” she says. I force myself to look away as she shrugs her coat off, but my gaze won’t be reined in so easily. Her jacket may have added a layer of padding, but the tight shirt and jeans she’s wearing make it impossible to mistake her curves for clothing. “Nice built-ins.”
“Hmm?” I mumble.
She nods to the bookcases flanking the fireplace, running her fingers along the mantel.
“They, uh, came with the place.” I scrub a hand over my beard at the thought of her touching my arm the way she seems to want to touch the surfaces in my home.
“Reading is probably my favorite thing to do in the whole world. I love it so much, I decided to major in English Lit.”
I want to ask her where she goes to school, but my heart is pounding so hard, I can hardly think straight enough to manage a stilted conversation. Can’t be too far away, if she’s willing to commute from all the way out here.