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)
“Why on Earth would you need to research open heart surgery or an autopsy while writing a romcom?”
“The same reason I researched squirrel mating patterns, I suppose.”
He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, holding the knife out, and stared at me. His tongue slowly crept out and wet his lips, and there was a shadow of confusion passing through his bright blue gaze. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“There’s not a lot you really can say, to be honest.” I sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Maximillian, what on Earth are you doing brandishing that knife around?” Esme rushed into the kitchen amidst the sound of her bags rustling.
Maximillian.
I grinned. Slowly. Oh. So. Slowly.
I was so going to full name him at some point for something.
He huffed out a breath. “I’m passing her the knife so she can cut potatoes.”
Esme jerked around. “Ellie, dear! I didn’t know you were here.”
“Hi!” I smiled. “Please don’t point the knife at me,” I said to Max. “In fact, just put it down. Right there. On the counter.”
He shook his head and set it down.
I quickly snatched it up and finally turned to Esme. “Sorry. I… don’t really know how to explain all that.”
Max shook his head. “It’s best nobody ever mentions that conversation again.”
I nodded sagely. He wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to explain how I ended up researching autopsies and squirrel mating patterns in the same fifteen minutes.
At least I didn’t have to mention that part of the research was autopsies on squirrels.
I really wasn’t sure how to explain that little nugget.
Don’t ask me how that fit into my book. It just did, all right?
Although, you know, if anyone would understand it, I’d bet it would be Esme.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked. “I was going to cook dinner, but I’ll go home and make something if I’m intruding.”
Max shook his head. “You’re not intruding, Grandma.”
She looked at me.
I smiled. “You’re fine. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Oh. I thought I might have walked in on a date.”
Both Max and I looked at each other.
Was this a date?
No.
We didn’t have dates. Not really, anyway. Nothing defined. Nothing we ever sort of… laid out… as a date.
If something was a date, it implied we were, you know. Dating. And we weren’t. Not at all. Not even a little bit.
We were just two people who spent a lot of time together and had fucked a couple of times.
Right?
Esme raised her eyebrows as if she was expecting one of us to have answered already.
“No, not a date,” I finally said after a moment. “Just two friends. Making dinner.”
Ahem.
Max cleared his throat. “I told Ellie it was Mum’s birthday and she suggested doing something Mum enjoyed to cheer me up, so we’re cooking dinner.”
Esme smiled, slowly sliding her gaze from Max to me. “She did love to cook. I’m happy to leave you kids alone.”
“No, Grandma. It would be nice if you stayed.”
I held up the potatoes. “I bet you’ll understand my chopping instructions.”
“They made no sense!” Max exclaimed.
I peered over at him. See? Drama queen. “I don’t know how you didn’t understand them!”
Esme frowned. “What were they?”
“Small. But not too small. In quarters, maybe. Six bits depending on the size,” I repeated.
She held out her hands. “Makes perfect sense to me.”
I grinned, handing her the bag of potatoes, then shot Max a sly look. “I told you that wasn’t complicated.”
He grunted, taking another knife out of the block. “If I said this was a date, I’d never hear the end of it. I said it’s not, and now I’ll never hear the end of these bloody potatoes,” he muttered. “I can’t win.”
Esme winked at me as she walked to the other side of the sink and retrieved a chopping board from the drawer. “What are we making?”
“Roasted diced potatoes and green beans in a garlic and herb butter sauce with salmon cooked in lemon juice,” I replied. “But we’re also making an apple pie so it’ll be going in at the same time.”
“Ooh. I came at the right time.”
“Funny how that worked out,” Max muttered.
“Be quiet, Maximillian, and chop those beans.”
He sighed. dropping his head right forwards. “Yep. Just like cooking with Mum used to be.”
I laughed.
Esme snorted. “Isabel had to tell you to be quiet. You never stopped bloody talking as a child. You were always nattering on about something to the point I actually thought you were a little girl. I’d never known a boy to talk so much in my life.”
“I didn’t talk that much,” Max argued.
“Oh, you did. Aeroplanes this, boats that, tanks the other.” She turned to me, barely paying attention to the potatoes she was cutting. “He went through this stage at about… oh, six or seven, was it, Max?”
“I’m not getting involved in this slander.”