Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Even the hat was clearly well-made, if I was being honest.
But the whole perfect, country, Tennessee-straight-guy look just wasn’t for me, and that was Finn’s bread and butter these days.
“Well, you look like you don’t belong here,” he said, looking me over. “What’s the term? City rat?”
Under the hat, his hazel-green eyes seemed to glow in the afternoon sun. He’d always had good lashes. The girls back in high school loved that about him.
“Rat who likes being in modern civilization,” I said.
“City pretty boy,” he tossed back, squinting down at my black Italian leather boots. “Hope you’re ready to shovel horse shit with me every morning in those shoes.”
I made a face. “Don’t tell me you bought a horse.”
He sighed, rolling up the sleeves on his green flannel. “Kidding, kidding, chill out. Just trying to put some fear in your blood. I do go down to the horses at the ranch every day at six to shovel for Mason, though,” he told me. “Part of why he lets me ride for free.”
“Sounds like a great morning routine. Nice, dewy horse shit at six in the morning.”
“Fuck off,” he said, smacking me on the back. “Pop the trunk on this thing. I’ll help you bring your stuff in.”
I rounded the back of the Beetle and pried it open.
“That’s not why Mason lets you ride horses for free, by the way,” I said.
Finn eyed me, doubt in his eyes. “Think he just likes losing money?”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“No. I think Mason wants to fuck you.”
He looked away. He ignored me for a moment, but then he couldn’t let it go.
“Right,” he said, hauling out the biggest suitcase from the back. “You don’t think anyone’s nice to each other unless they’re trying to fuck. Here in Bestens, people actually still care about being kind to each other.”
“Is that why you’re so peachy-sweet to me?”
He snorted. “You’re different.” He took out another suitcase, cutting me a look. “But now you’re just another country hick like the rest of us again, aren’t you?”
Bitter bile rose in my stomach.
Finn knew I’d hate him saying that. He knew I didn’t belong here, and knew at least some of the reasons why.
I ignored him, reaching for another suitcase. “I have a couple of rental house tours set up for next week,” I told him, already planning my swift exit from being his houseguest. “Hey, watch the suitcases. Why’s your lawn so damn muddy?”
“Here in the real world, we still get weather in the spring,” Finn said, dragging my two pearl-white suitcases across his squidgy lawn. “Next time get a more practical color for your bags, Prince Ori.”
“Usually people don’t carry them like they’re an ox hauling a wheelbarrow.”
He looked at me with wide eyes and a goofy smile, stopping outside the front door. “You think oxen haul wheelbarrows? No wonder you left the country.”
“It was just an expression.”
He wasn’t done. “You think the ox reaches up and uses its hooves to push the wheelbarrow? Does it hum a tune and wink at you afterward, too? Maybe that’s just the Los Angeles oxen.”
“Kiss my ass.”
“You’ll be kissing mine, for letting you stay in my house.”
His front yard smelled like mud and flowers. I glanced over the red geraniums he’d planted along the front, the same kind my mom used to plant each spring.
He took good care of the place. It was nothing like the crappy, trashy house he’d grown up in about a mile from here—Finn had pledged to take better care of his first house than his parents ever did, and he was proving that now. It made me proud, even though I wasn’t going to tell him that right now.
“Thank you for letting me stay. Seriously,” I said. “Now get in there before I throw that cowboy hat in the mud.”
“You wouldn’t fucking dare,” he said, swinging the front door open.
Stepping into his home was like entering a time machine. It was more like a barn that had been fashioned into a makeshift living space. Pretty much everything was some variety of wood, and I could tell that half of it was Finn’s own DIY carpentry. It was rustic, to say the least, but he was good at making it cozy.
When I’d visited home for the past few Christmases since he bought this place, I had only briefly been in Finn’s house. For the short visits, I stayed with my parents, but since my niece had been born, their spare room was no longer available.
Honestly, I’d been surprised when Finn offered me his guest bedroom.
Growing up, he’d always joined my family for holidays, not the other way around. He’d always said he was more comfortable being a guest than a host. Finn didn’t exactly have much of his own family.
He hoisted my two biggest suitcases, turning to carry them down the narrow, paneled hallway.