Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“What do you want for breakfast?” I asked as I unlocked my house and turned off the security system.
Travis didn’t answer. He was looking around the room, open-mouthed. “This is gorgeous.”
I’d worked damn hard on my house, and I knew it was impressive, but Travis’s praise made me warm all over, and damn if I didn’t feel a flutter like butterflies in my stomach. What the hell was wrong with me? Travis was young and unsure of himself. Why was I nervous?
“No wonder you didn’t want anyone else to work on it. You weren’t exaggerating when you said you were spending a lot of time. This is incredible.” He walked around the room, looking at the built-in shelves I’d redone and the fireplace that—while I never needed it—was still fully functional. He extended a hand toward a picture on the mantel, then drew it back.
“You can pick it up. I don’t mind.”
“Is this…”
“Yeah, it’s Uncle Etienne’s cabin, and that’s my grandad as a kid.”
“Wow. I thought that was you, but I couldn’t understand why everything looked so old-fashioned. I don’t ever remember you wearing overalls, only your uncle.”
“You probably rarely remember me wearing anything but ripped-up shorts. I wasn’t much for clothes in those days.”
Travis looked me up and down. He turned away quickly but not before I saw him blush. Fuck. Why the hell did I mention myself being nearly naked? “So… um… what do you want for breakfast?”
He shrugged. “Whatever is fine.”
“Travis, what do you want to eat?”
He glanced at me, then looked away again. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
I imagined what Beau would say to that. The trouble Travis had caused Beau had landed Beau in prison for years, but my gut told me Travis was sincere now. My best guess was that Travis was starved for attention, but he’d never found the right kind. He probably wasn’t used to having choices.
“Right now, I’m hungry enough to eat the grilled nutria Ambrose tries to push on me,” I said. “Any less grotesque food choice is fine with me. I’ve got eggs, bacon, sausage—”
His eyes lit up. “Do you have the sausage we would get out in the bayou? The handmade kind they sold at the little store?”
The wistfulness in his voice made me happier to have a well-stocked freezer than I’d ever been, even during a hurricane. “I sure do. I try to always keep some on hand. No other sausage even comes close.”
“I’d like that, please.”
“With eggs? Pancakes?”
“Both?”
“Absolutely.” I’d do whatever I could to see that smile on his face again. “Do you need anything before I start cooking?”
Travis shook his head.
“Okay. Let me at least show you your room.”
“Oh, I can sleep on the couch. You don’t have to—”
“I have a spare room. It’s fine. Why don’t I show you around so you know where everything is?”
“You don’t have to. I’ll be leaving once I’ve rested. I really don’t want to be a burden for you.”
I shook my head. “You will stay here as long as I think you need to.”
Travis sucked in his breath. I was a demanding bastard, but I wasn’t taking my statement back. He would stay here. He wasn’t safe unless he was with one of us.
I started his tour in the kitchen, which had a vintage stove and refrigerator. They weren’t quite as old as the house, but they were from a time when it had still been in its original state. I’d removed the hideous paint the previous owner had put on the cabinets and refinished them. Even the cabinet pulls were authentic. After a lot of searching, I’d finally located what I wanted at an antique store.
“Wow, this is even more impressive than the living room.”
“Thank you.” I kept my voice gentle, wanting to soothe him so he would keep telling me what he thought of the house. I was going to savor every one of his comments. Eventually, he’d ask me something about my life now, and he’d stop being so impressed with me.
From the kitchen, we entered a tiny room that had originally been a sewing room. It was now set up as a mancave-slash-office for me, but the wainscoting and blue paint were correct for the time period.
“You managed to make this modern but, like… not. I can imagine you in here gaming or watching a movie.”
I wanted him there with me, curled against my side, relaxed, happy. Fuck. I needed to stop thinking like that.
I walked into the adjoining room and realized that was a mistake. We were in my bedroom, the last place we needed to be when all I could think about was how he’d respond to me picking him up, carrying him to the bed, and using my body to soothe him. What was wrong with me? This was Travis, Beau’s little brother.