Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
At least by helping, I’m giving them more space to do their vital work, making this garden bloom and turning their effort into delicious honey.
I’m also giving myself a Winnie-specific therapy session no money could buy from any shrink.
I’m so engrossed in my work I don’t notice the rustle of footsteps behind me.
But I do hear a throat clearing.
Swearing, I stand and turn, all in one movement that would be smooth if I didn’t spin face-to-face with the grumpy owner dude from yesterday.
He’s a damn giant.
The way he towers over me alone is enough to make me unsteady.
I take two steps back, giving up on being smooth.
Honestly, that’s also because I forgot just how good-looking this bear of a man is.
It feels illegal for anyone to be this attractive with his short dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and God, that jawline.
Yes, he’s older. Late thirties, maybe.
Huge big daddy vibes as the kids would say.
The tiny lines flaring out from the corners of his eyes prove it when he frowns. Probably his permanent expression.
I don’t think I’ve seen him smile. Not that he had good reason to look happy last night, but he has a face that doesn’t seem like it remembers how.
Even when he’s standing in front of me in this slice of Missouri Eden, he looks like he just walked in after Goldilocks ate his porridge.
Scowly or not, he’s hotter than sin.
“Um, hi.” I tuck my hands behind my back just in case he hasn’t noticed the mud under my fingernails. Hopefully he hasn’t also noticed the fact that I wiped my face with those hands and probably have dirt smeared on my face.
“Hello,” he says curtly, still frowning. “Were you… weeding?”
Oh, good. He noticed.
“Not too much, your garden doesn’t need it. You keep this place up very well. I was just passing the time.”
“I see.” He pauses like he’s trying to remember why he’s here. “I’m Archer Rory, by the way.”
“Yes, I remember the name from your card…”
Archer, huh? Like the muscly men with bows and arrows in ancient times.
His name fits the old-timey vibes he gives off.
And the fact that the gaping age gap between us means he was probably born in the Viking age.
A silly image flashes in my head of him shirtless, streaked with blue paint, swinging an axe around over his head. I clap a hand over my mouth and bite back a giggle.
No, this modern man in his sharp suit and perfectly trimmed beard is about as far from wild warrior as you can get.
Pull yourself together.
“I’m Winnie, but I think you already knew that?” I drop the hand I extended automatically because I remember I’ve got mud on my fingers.
“I remember,” he says. “You introduced yourself last night. I have all your details.”
“Oh, right. Sorry, sometimes I space out.” Talk about awkward.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you like this. I tried the door but you weren’t answering.”
“I was out here.”
“Weeding, yes. I have a landscaper and lawn crew for that. They come every week.”
“Well, many hands make light work and all.” I pin on the world’s cringiest smile.
We stand in uncomfortable silence, unsure what to say.
I debate if I should invite him in or see what he has to say first.
Eventually, I decide that if I invite him in, it feels like I’m encouraging him to stay, and no matter how hot he is, I’d like to get back to my peace and quiet soon.
I’m not in the mood for hot, growly interlopers today.
“So, you must be here for that schedule thing,” I say, looking out across the garden rather than at him. “Have you figured it out? If this place is free so I can stay another week?” I wait a beat and when he doesn’t immediately reply, I add, “I won’t lie, I was expecting you to just call.”
“Your phone is off,” he says blandly.
Oh, crap.
I wince. Good point.
I forgot I put it in airplane mode after I scarfed down those eclairs to block the steady stream of nonstop messages from people ready to have me committed for going full runaway bride.
“Yes, my bad. I forgot I had it off. Anyway, do you have news?”
“Yes and no.” He tilts his head slightly as he looks at me, like trying to piece my mysteries together into a picture that makes sense. “Truthfully, I didn’t just drop by because you want to stay longer. I had a man call my office this morning looking for you.”
A man? What man? Who would—
Oh, no.
No, no, no, this is bad.
Holden or my dad. It has to be.
They’re both equally awful.
“Carroll Emberly,” Archer continues. “I figure he’s your father.”
I close my eyes, turning numb to the tips of my toes.
Partly in defeat, but also because I don’t want to see the way Archer keeps looking at me. Especially the distrust in his eyes, like he’s convinced I’m some sort of danger.