Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 85267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Keeps me focused.
Keeps my eye on the prize.
Keeps my eye on the end goal: the pros.
But when Charlie says my real name, when she says Jackson—the way she says it? It makes my stomach curl, as if I’ve just done a hundred crunches and worn out my abs.
Her fingers unfurl from my arm and, on shaky legs, she makes her way to a round, smooth pumpkin, a cheery shade of orange all over with a long, coiled stem.
It’s damn near perfect.
“It’s almost perfect!” she exclaims, mimicking my thoughts.
I grunt. “That the one you want?”
“What do you think?”
I don’t give a fuck, I want to say, but I don’t, because it would hurt her feelings. She’s way too jacked up about this pumpkin. “Looks good.”
“So you like it?” She’s hopeful.
“Sure.”
“I do, too—let’s get this one.” We both look down at it. “Can you carry it?”
Obviously I can—I’m Goliath. Nevertheless, it makes me feel like a badass that she asked, and that she did it with a little twinkle in her blue eyes while eyeing up my biceps.
Dang, if she keeps looking at me that way—with those soft eyes and sweet smile—I’m going to forget myself and catch feelings for her, or something equally foolish.
It’s bad enough that I’m about to take a goddamn pumpkin home to the house and carve it in my fucking kitchen for everyone to see.
I’m going to catch a rash of shit about it from the guys, no question.
I squat instead of bending over, scoop up the heavy vegetable, then tuck it under one arm, supporting its weight with my palm like I would a greased up baby pig, or a baby goat, or—
“The wagon’s already coming back around,” Charlie is saying next to me as she pulls at the collar on her denim jacket, shielding herself from the wind that’s been picking up since we got here. The skirt of her dress picks up, blown up by the breeze.
Standing side by side, we wait patiently for the hay wagon to position itself. Stop.
The driver climbs off the tractor and pulls down the stoop, placing a wooden block under it like he did when we originally scrambled on, and Charlie steps one heeled foot onto it now. Then the other, until she’s back up in the wagon, settling her fanny onto a hay bale. Smooths the skirt of her dress down with the palms of her hands, holding it in place when it gets kicked up by a gust of wind.
I heave myself up after her, plopping down beside her. Legs spread, I try to ignore it when she shivers.
“You cold?”
She shivers again in reply. “A little.”
I don’t have a jacket to offer her, just the heat from my giant body.
“Um…” I’m not good at this, but I set the pumpkin on the ground between my feet and put my arm around Charlie. Pull her in closer, tucking her under my armpit like I’d do a football—or a pumpkin. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you.” She hunkers down a little more. “You’re blocking the wind, which is nice.”
I’m blocking the wind because I’m a fortress of strength and steel and goddamn power, and don’t you forget it.
“You’re like a big brick wall.”
Uh.
“I prefer fortress of strength.”
She laughs into the solid wall of my chest, her giggle muffled by my shirt. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“But I am.”
Her body shakes. “Stop it, Jackson.”
What the hell? “You don’t think I am?”
“I mean, even if I did, I wouldn’t call you that. Who says that? Fortress of strength—that’s hilarious.”
I feel myself blush and thank God for the cold and breeze, because now that she’s teasing me, I feel like a fucking idiot for having said the words fortress of strength out loud to this girl.
I respond by grunting, giving her hair a nuzzle on the sly, praying she doesn’t notice.
Charlie pulls back far enough to look at my face. “Did you just sniff my hair?”
Bust my balls a little more why don’t you?
“I couldn’t breathe—you’re suffocating me.” We both roll our eyes at the lie, but when she settles back against my chest, I can actually feel her smiling against my pec.
Huh.
We get jostled and bounced around on the way back to the barn and somehow end up with straw in our hair. We also end up buying two gourds that look like mini-pumpkins and a pumpkin carving kit, stuffing a scarecrow, and noshing on caramel apples on the walk back to the truck.
I am carrying everything but Charlie’s apple.
She happily munches on it while I shove the pumpkin into the backseat of my truck, along with the scarecrow, carving kit, and gourds. I know as soon as I hit the brakes at the next light, those sonsabitches are going to fly off the seat and roll to the floor.
“We should name the scarecrow, don’t you think?” Charlie has her long legs extended, feet propped up on the dashboard with her shoes on as her teeth nibble on her apple.