Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
The urgency rises within me again, even though I’ve stalked him for a week and never seen him share physical intimacy with anyone. In fact, I haven’t even seen him meet up with friends either.
He’s alone.
Oh, we’re so alike.
I get closer, and as he leaves his workplace in that cute fur-lined hat, I dash along the sidewalk, making sure to bump him with my shoulder just hard enough to tip him off balance.
As predicted, he wobbles, and I, the culprit, swoop in to steady him.
“Are you oka—oh, it’s you,” I say as if I haven’t waited for this moment for hours. “I’m so sorry. My mind was somewhere else.”
He doesn’t back off even though he glances inside the shop, probably to check if his boss isn’t looking. He has such a pretty profile with those pouty lips, shapely nose, and the long black eyelashes.
A smile surfaces on his lips when our eyes meet again. “S-Saint? What are you doing here? Researching for your novel?” he asks, handing me the answer on a platter.
“Yes, it’s my first evening in town, so I went out for coffee, to soak up the atmosphere, you know. I want to make the setting of my next book feel like a character in its own right,” I say, and since he isn’t pulling back, my hands stay on his waist. What do I have to lose?
“That place is really nice,” he points to the cafe I’ve just been at. “I can’t imagine getting a lot of inspiration in this boring town though.” As soon as there’s movement in the shop, Rowan pulls out of my grip.
I’m guessing he’s not out then.
Doesn’t matter. We’ll get there.
“You’d be surprised,” I say with a smirk, and seeing he’s still close, still looking my way, has my heart beating faster. “It’s all about perspective. I was planning to check out the Italian place down the street. Care to join me?”
He stares at me for a prolonged moment, giving me time to admire his slender neck. I should get him a scarf.
“I… Sorry, that place is a bit out of my budget,” he says, and his pale cheeks flush.
How adorable. He thinks I’d let him pay.
“Oh, no, it’s my treat! To apologize for walking into you,” I say and rub his arm as the wind blows around us, creating a spiraling cloud of snow, as if we’re inside a Christmas snow globe.
It’s as if the universe is telling me he’s the one.
Rowan bites his pale lip, already smiling, and pushes his hands into his pockets. After observing him for a week, I know that he doesn’t always need his cane. I hope the fact that he isn’t holding it now means he’s feeling better.
“I mean… I am hungry.”
No surprise there. I’ve seen his shopping, and he eats like he’s trying to ruin his health. His last food haul was particularly bad. Microwave meals, hardly a vegetable in sight, two bananas, and a discounted, broken chocolate Santa.
“Well, then let me treat you. In exchange, you tell me everything there is to know about Rosehill Pines.”
And about you.
That’s what I truly care about.
He nods with a widening smile and makes a little gesture toward the store he works at. “Okay. I can tell you all about the hunting season.”
There’s only one type of prey I’m hunting, though. And I don’t care if it’s in season.
Chapter 6
Rowan
The hunting trophies, old guns, and pictures of people long gone from this world don’t scream Italy, but the food is still excellent. Even the tomatoes making up a simple salad appetizer are so flavorful they might just be the best I had in a long time, if not ever. I usually buy the cheapest products I can get, always fighting to keep my head above water as the cost of living mounts up, but if Saint wants to treat me, I’m not going to stop him.
I asked him some questions about his book, and apparently he’s writing a murder mystery but is still waiting for the details to come to him. As we share a plate of pasta, which apparently is meant to be eaten as the first course, not the main dish, I find myself getting more and more nervous. He’s gay. I’m gay. And now we’re eating out of the same bowl, sharing smiles at a cozy, candlelit table in a restaurant I could never afford.
And he is paying.
Does this mean we’re… that he… that this is a date?
I’ve never been on a date. Not since my life stopped being normal, and before that, I’ve only taken girls out on perfectly innocent outings before I realized they didn’t do anything for me. But if this is a date, it’s my first with another man, and I fear that I might lose the ground under my feet at any moment, sinking into the dark waters of… whatever this is.