Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“I’m talking too much.” Sloane threw me an apologetic look as she finally grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer.
“You’re fine,” I assured her.
“No, I know you don’t like people chatting at you like that.”
Where did she get that idea? I frowned. “Talk until you’re hoarse. It doesn’t bother me.” I liked Sloane’s voice. I liked her laughter best but didn’t seem able to provoke it like others could.
“Coffee, tea?” she asked, ice pack on her face.
I pushed off the doorjamb. “I’ll make it. You sit down. Tea?”
“You don’t—”
“Sloane, I’ll make it.”
She gave me a grateful smile. “There’s peppermint tea in the cupboard above the kettle. I’ll have that. There’s coffee there, too, but it’s instant.”
“Tea will do,” I assured her.
Instead of going into the adjoining sitting room, Sloane hovered in the doorway, watching me.
I glanced up at her as I stirred milk into my tea and found her wearing a soft, genuine smile. “What?”
Her gaze moved to mine, and I tried not to think about how warm and dark and gorgeous her big brown eyes were. “You take milk in your tea.”
Bemused, I nodded.
“No sugar.”
I smirked, realizing what she was getting at. “Stopped taking it since you moved to town with your shit-hot baking. Have to curb the sweet tooth somewhere.”
Sloane laughed. A small, breathy laugh. I felt about nine feet fucking tall as her eyes glittered, the sadness temporarily chased away. “You don’t have to eat my cakes, you know.”
I grunted at that and handed her the mug of peppermint tea. “And the earth doesn’t need to orbit the sun.”
She chuckled again, and I turned back to my tea, a smile of triumph pulling at my mouth.
Catching sight of the photos pinned to the refrigerator, mostly of Sloane and Callie, I paused. There was one from last Christmas. The Adairs had invited us to join them. The photo was of Sloane, Callie, Monroe, Brodan … and me. I stood behind Brodan, beer in my hand, staring stonily at the camera. There were loads of photos taken that day. But she’d picked this one to hang on her fridge.
Feeling her attention, I looked and found her watching me, biting her plump lower lip.
I glanced back at the fridge and noted the other photo that stood out from the rest. Callie was with an older Latinx woman. Curiosity about their past life got the better of me. “Grandmother?”
Silence met me.
I looked at Sloane. She wore a wary expression. “An old friend.”
Again, that annoying need to know who she was, where she’d come from, agitated me. How the hell had she ended up in the middle of nowhere in the Scottish Highlands? Remembering Aria’s defense of her today and the secret shared looks between them reinforced my theory that the Howards were protecting Sloane.
“I need to sit down.”
At Sloane’s tired words, I grabbed my tea and followed her into the sitting room. I watched her as she curled up on one sofa and I took the other. She sipped at her drink, those big dark eyes looking at me over the top of her steaming mug.
I stared back, trying to gauge her emotional state.
She returned my stare unabashedly, and we did that for a while, sipping our drinks and just looking at each other. Something tight twisted in my chest and gut.
I wanted to kill Byron Hoffman. But I wouldn’t. Not in the traditional sense of ending his life. I would kill him where it hurt. I’d take away the power he hid behind. I’d take away everything that mattered. Somehow. I’d work with my new boss to make sure it happened.
“That’s an awfully fierce look on your face.” Sloane ended the silence. “What are you thinking?”
Sloane impressed me with how well she was handling today. Aye, she’d broken down in the car park, but that was to be expected. Her words from earlier bothered me. That she’d escaped bad situations before. I already sensed that. But having it confirmed disturbed me more than I liked. Still, I didn’t need to pussyfoot around Sloane. “I’m thinking of the ways I can destroy Hoffman.”
A savage glint lit her eyes, and I felt inappropriate heat rush south. “Good. I wish it were in my power to destroy him. I want him to pay for that too. My powerlessness. I’m so angry that I can’t do anything without hurting Callie. I’m angry that men like him can make me feel that way.” She shook her head. “But I won’t let him leave me with that. I won’t live my life angry. I can’t. I have to live life in the light. With hope. With optimism. For Callie’s sake. I won’t be a bitter, unhappy mom.”
“Then you have more power than you realize, Sloane,” I assured her, awed. “Choosing to let go of your anger for the sake of your daughter … that’s powerful fucking stuff.”