Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
She looked up at me with a smile, although it was a little sadder than usual. “I know, Max. I will drop the discussion, but I’m still going to point out pretty girls. Just in case.”
“And I will sigh, make a noncommittal noise, and change the subject.” I patted the back of her hand and straightened up again.
“It’s nice to have some consistency,” Grandma replied. “And yes, you’re right about Ellie. She is here for a writing retreat. I suppose I should tell her that she doesn’t have to come to the book club after all.”
“Did she agree to go? And would you like some more tea?”
“I would love some, thank you.” She pushed her cup towards me. “She did, although I do recall not particularly giving her a choice.”
“Surely not. You are the most gracious person alive, Grandma. You’d never dream of strongarming someone into something you wanted them to do.”
She gave me a withering look. “Your sarcasm is exhausting me today, Max. Could we have a conversation without it?”
“Ah, but if I don’t get it in, you will.”
“That’s my prerogative as your elder.”
“All right, Grandma. You take the sarcasm reigns.”
“Thank you.” She paused. “Perhaps I should take Ellie some bread or a cake to apologise for being heavy-handed. She did look quite panicked when I suggested it. What do you think?”
I poured her tea and slid the cup back to her, then poured one for myself. “Maybe. I know nothing about the woman except that she writes books and apparently has quite an ornery cat who is fond of hunting birds, so I can’t really comment.”
She huffed, and I knew that wasn’t an acceptable answer.
“That said, I’m sure either baked good would be greatly appreciated by her, and a more formal invitation to the book club for a casual discussion about her books might be extended.”
Grandma paused for a second. “You’re right. I’ll bake her a nice chocolate cake and take it over there this afternoon. Do you think Samantha or Edward might do an invitation for me?”
“You don’t need a paper one. A verbal one would suffice.”
“Do you think Samantha or Edward might do an invitation for me?”
I dipped my chin, smiling. I was not giving her the answers she wanted today. “Samantha would probably be better to ask,” I replied, referring to the female half of the husband-and-wife team who lived on the estate and acted as our butler and general housekeeper. We kept a skeleton staff compared to most other aristocratic houses, but since Grandma chose to live in a cottage and I lived in a rather small wing of the main house, there was no need to keep a full-time household staff.
Samantha and Edward were more than enough for us, subsidised by a larger cleaning group who came in once a month to deep-clean.
“I shall finish my tea and go back to the cottage to bake.”
“You can do it here if you’d like,” I offered, finishing my juice. “I’m going for a run anyway.”
Grandma waved her hand dismissively. “No, don’t worry about it. I don’t like your oven. It’s a hinky bastard.”
How could an oven be a hinky bastard?
What even was a hinky bastard?
I shook my head and pulled my phone out of my pocket. “All right. Any chance you could, er, bring me some of that cake?”
“No. It’s for Ellie.” She peered over at me. “If you see her and introduce yourself like the gentleman I raised you to be, I might make you your own.”
“Fine,” I grumbled, grabbing my earbuds from the table where I’d left them in their case yesterday. “But I’m only doing it if I happen to run into her. I have no intentions of seeking her out specifically to introduce myself. I find that if you go out of your way to do things like that, people get the wrong idea about you.”
“What? Are you worried she might think you’re actually a nice person and not a giant grumpy sod?”
“Exactly.” I put one earbud in. “I have a reputation to keep up, don’t you know?”
“Ah, yes. The one where you’re a miserable, brooding, cold-hearted git.”
“That’s the one.” I put the other bud in with a little smile. “I’ll see you later, Grandma.”
• • •
I bent over and rested my hands on my thighs, letting my head drop forwards. God, I hated running. I’d been doing it almost daily for twelve years, and I still couldn’t bring myself to like it.
Yet I did it.
I blamed Fred, my best friend. Rooming with him in university had been a mixture of wild partying and hard running the next day, but it’d been an effective way of working off a hangover.
So was beans on toast, for that matter.
That wasn’t why I still did it. It was somewhat of a habit now, to wake up, have a glass of orange juice, and head out for a run. Any work that needed doing was always to be done after it, and that was my only hard line. I would wake up at three in the morning to fix an issue, but this hour was entirely my own.