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)
He is handsome, charming, asks me a lot of questions and actually listens to answers. I find him so attractive he’s all I’ve been thinking about at work, but it’s one thing to imagine a man kissing me, and doing it—quite another.
The attack on my family not only left me alone in the world but also with scars on my mind and body. Saint might not find my physical disability off-putting, but there’s only so much patience a man can have for a virgin who’s afraid to be alone with a stranger.
I’m spoiled goods. And no matter how intensely I lie to myself sometimes, nobody wants to deal with the aftermath of the shit I’ve been through. We’re just getting to know each other, and while my baggage is such a big part of me, I can’t spring it on him on the day we met.
How would I even do that? ‘Hey, and by the way, I’m messed up because my family was brutally murdered in a house invasion, and I almost lost my life, but let’s just enjoy pasta’.
No, I’m determined to enjoy this evening.
“I don’t like to go hunting with the guys from the shop though,” I go on after he inquires about my hobbies. “There’s this whole macho banter around it, and it’s not just that I’m smaller and can’t keep up. They’re loud and kind of obnoxious, and while I don’t have much time off, going to the woods on my own, only focusing on tracking, is very calming to me. Especially in winter. I like the snow, dressing warm, the chill in the air. Is that weird?”
Saint licks a bit of sauce from his lips and smiles. The candlelight adds a golden sheen to his hazel gaze, and I find myself so painfully smitten, my inadequacies feel even more obvious.
“No, not at all. Tracking is often way more enjoyable than the kill itself. It’s almost… meditative,” he adds with a thoughtful frown.
My heart skips a beat when I realize we have a hobby that connects us. “You hunt too?”
Then again, he’s a writer doing research. He’s probably just interested in finding out about the area from me. Unless he’s not against slumming it with a local for a month or two. Would I be okay with that? Probably. Even if I end up with my heart broken, at least I would have lived for those few weeks. If I manage to accept his presence in my apartment without freaking out, that is.
I laugh a bit too loudly when we stick our forks in the same piece of pasta, and he pulls his hand away, letting me have it. “I do. But not as intensely as you must have to get all this experience. Did you start early?”
I stall, because his innocent question stabs into me like a javelin. But the sharp blade only exists in my head so I clear my throat and speak. “Y-yes. I used to go hunting with my dad. He taught me a lot. I had some teenage growing pains, and it helped us reconnect. I think that was more important for him than the hunting itself. Sometimes we would even camp out in the woods and learn all about survival skills.” That was before I became afraid of my own shadow.
“Oh! Are you still into that? Wild camping?”
“Yes and no. I have… don’t laugh! I’ve got a bit of a survivalist interest. I know some basic foraging, how to filter water, and I’ve got one of those bug-out bags with everything I might need if I had to leave within minutes.”
Saint smirks. “Of course. In case of a nuclear disaster.”
I bump his foot with mine. “I told you not to laugh!”
“No, no, this is very serious.” But we’re both laughing by now. “I hope you practice skinning a deer at least once a month.”
“I don’t usually kill the animals, maybe apart from the odd rabbit I know how to prepare myself. But I like to know I could. Does that make sense?” It probably doesn’t, and before I can even consider inviting Saint over, I’d have to make sure he doesn’t accidentally find my serial killer mood board.
If this is even a date.
“I’m assuming you don’t have the space for a lot of meat in your apartment. It would have been a waste.”
“I only have a small freezer, and it’s usually stuffed with frozen TV dinners.” I have the last piece of pasta from the plate with a smile. “This is already the best meal I’ve had this year. Maybe I have been missing out.”
Saint grins. “My invitation still stands. Don’t want to brag, but I’m a pretty good cook. I had to learn quickly after I moved in with my uncle. He couldn’t even boil an egg.”
That piques my interest. He’s still a bit of a mystery to me, as I’ve been foolishly talking a lot about myself. I haven’t even asked him about his pen name.