Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Oh.” I guess that suggestion did count as advice. A strange sensation spread through my chest. I’d told him to do something outside the bedroom, and he’d actually done the thing. “How’d that go?”
“Declan answered instead of letting the call go to voicemail. Early for him, but he sounded happy enough to hear from his old man.” Sean finished making a neat stack of the empty boxes, gaze darting between the donate and trash piles. I gave him a stern look until he gently added the stack to the trash. “He told me about Saturday night’s race. I told him not to party too hard after a good finish. He groaned, but then he said not to worry.”
Knowing Sean, he’d worry about the kid till Sean’s own final breath, but I liked how much lighter and happier Sean seemed now as opposed to earlier. “So it helped? Hearing from him?”
“Yeah.” Sean’s smile took on a sappy edge, eyes going soft as he crossed to where I was rinsing the newsprint off my hands in the sink of the old kitchenette. “You’re pretty smart.”
“Nah.” I never did know what to do with a compliment. I looked everywhere but at Sean until my gaze landed on the furniture we’d uncovered under all the boxes. A little Formica dining set right out of the 1950s, along with some random wooden chairs. Over in the corner, away from the window, was a mammoth leather chair that was somewhere between a recliner and a loveseat. Ugly as sin and twice as lumpy. “Now that’s a chair.”
“It’s huge.” Sean grinned before touching my arm. “It could fit both of us.”
“Could indeed.” Suddenly, kissing seemed like the best idea on the planet, a great way to avoid more compliments and my own pesky stray thoughts. I nodded over at the carriage house’s front door. “Lock the door.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sean
I’d never locked a door so fast in my life. I scurried over to the front door of the carriage house, leaping over the piles for trash and recycling, and quickly flipped the lock, double-checking the handle for good measure.
“Come here.” Denver was already sprawled in the oversized chair, taking up far more real estate than I’d thought possible. I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to fit, but then Denver patted his thigh.
Huh. I didn’t know what I thought about that suggestion, but an invisible magnet pulled me to the chair nonetheless. Denver had already shed his shirt, revealing that wide chest I liked so much and leaving him only in faded jeans with the top button undone. I reached for the hem of my own T-shirt, but when my fingers encountered the damp flesh of my side, I let the shirt fall back down.
“Should we shower?” I glanced back at the doorway to the small bathroom. It had a stall shower, a far cry from Denver’s huge tub. Might be a tight squeeze and not the fun kind. “Or at least me? I’m—”
“Perfect.” Denver patted his thigh again, legs falling open invitingly. “I’m not afraid of a little sweat, but I am afraid of that scary-looking shower back there.”
The bathroom was in rougher shape than the living space of the carriage house, with a cracked mirror, a pedestal sink with separate hot and cold taps, mismatched flooring, and a bent shower door stained with some sort of rust. The vinyl of the shower stall itself had at least one crack, so Denver’s reluctance made sense. God only knew when the water had last been turned on in there.
“Point taken. We’ll make cleaning the bathroom up and possibly replacing the shower a priority.”
“Replacing. Some things can’t be saved.” Denver’s tone was pragmatic, as it had been while sorting through boxes. He was unburdened by the sentimentality that could paralyze me, and I’d enjoyed working with him a great deal. We’d gotten far more done than I would have alone. Denver jerked a thumb over at the bathroom. “I’ll help.”
“You will?” My eyes went wide, and Denver’s mouth pursed. Crap. Maybe he hadn’t meant to offer. I spoke fast before he could rethink. “That’s great. Looking forward to it.”
I was all-in on any chance to see more of Denver, in or out of bed. And the carriage house work did need doing, and the less I needed Eric’s help, the better. The kids and his return to his paramedic job had him busy enough.
“I’m looking forward to you in fewer clothes,” Denver drawled, and I finally went ahead and pulled off my T-shirt. Moving closer to him, I let him pull me into his lap. I ended up half on him and half on the chair, but this definitely qualified as in someone’s lap, which was an odd and entirely new sensation. Denver wrapped his arms around me, and despite the newness of the position, my whole body relaxed.