Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I am still a submissive at heart, after all.
“Well?” he asks.
“My boss gave me the week.” Then I add quickly, “But I realize we won’t be gone for a whole week.”
He looks me up and down. “Maybe we will. Who knows?”
Very strange from someone who has said he likes being in control.
“So…when are we leaving?”
“This afternoon.”
Didn’t he say he wanted to take me out tonight? I guess this is taking me out, all right. I look around my apartment, at my bed, my pot of coffee that’s almost done brewing. “That doesn’t give me a lot of time to pack.”
He shrugs. “Who says you need to pack? We can get everything you need once we land.”
I shake my head, chuckling.
“Something funny?”
“It’s just…you’re being very whimsical for someone who likes to be in control of everything.”
He places the bag and cupholder on my small table, takes a seat on my futon, and puts his feet up on the steamer trunk I use for a coffee table. “Whimsical? I don’t think anyone’s ever used that word to describe me.”
“What else would you call it? You invited a woman you barely know to go to your hometown out of state. Now you’re saying we don’t even need to pack.”
He gazes at me. “I’m saying you don’t need to pack, Blossom. I’ve already packed. And I plan on caring for your every need during this trip.”
I’m frozen for a moment. Bound by his stare and his promises. He is in control, I realize, and he’s calling me Blossom…
My coffeepot grinds to a stop, jolting me out of my head. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask.
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“You don’t like it?”
“The Brit in me, I suppose. I got into the habit of drinking a strong tea at breakfast.”
“I don’t have any tea. Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He points to the cardboard cup holder with two to-go cups. “I brought some for us both. Plus poppyseed bagels with lots of schmear, of course, for my Manhattanite.”
I smile. “All right. I’ll try tea today.”
Coffee is a morning ritual for me, but a nice cup of strong English Breakfast sounds pretty good. I’m not sure how it’s going to taste with a bagel and cream cheese, though. Seems like we should be having clotted cream and scones or something.
Going to New Orleans is all about seeing new things, trying new things. I guess that starts right now with our breakfast.
I pull out a couple of plates and a knife for the cream cheese. “Are the bagels sliced?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure if you had a bread knife.”
“I do. I love bagels. But pre-sliced is perfect. Now I don’t have to dirty it up.” I gesture to my small table in the kitchenette. “Have a seat.”
Ronan rises from the futon. The table is tiny, and so are the chairs. For a moment I wonder if the chair will collapse under Ronan’s weight. He’s such a big man.
But it doesn’t.
I bring over the plates and utensils while Ronan pulls the paper cups out of the holder.
“I like to drink my tea plain, but I brought some milk and sugar for you just in case.” He pulls out a few packets.
“Plain sounds good.”
I take the cup, letting it warm my hands. “You know? Let me get us some coffee cups. I don’t feel right drinking tea out of a paper cup.”
“As you wish.”
I grab a couple mugs, set them on the table, and pour my steaming tea into one, inhaling the hearty aroma. “It’s funny. I never drink tea at breakfast. But I love it in the afternoon or in the evening.”
“You’re such an American.”
“Last time I checked, so are you.”
“True. But I spent the last fifteen years in the UK. Plus, my father always had tea with breakfast when I was little.” He flicks his gaze downward and back up. “When he was home, that is.” He grabs a bagel, smears some cream cheese on it, and takes a bite. Once he swallows, he says, “New York bagels are unlike anything else. They’re so chewy.”
I grab one for myself. “They’re the best, aren’t they?”
“They are good. I’m not a bagel novice. We had them in Louisiana, but they aren’t like this.”
“Like you said, New York bagels are their own thing. You can’t get them anywhere else.”
He takes another bite and then sips his tea, raising one eyebrow. “Turns out tea is good with everything. I wasn’t sure how it would jibe with the cream cheese.”
“Isn’t cream cheese like clotted cream?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Clotted cream is more like sweet butter. Another thing you should try.”
“I get the feeling I’m not going find any of that in New Orleans.”
“Probably not.” He leans toward me. “I guess I’ll have to take you to Glasgow.”
I stop myself from gasping in surprise, but my eyes still widen. “Ronan, we’ve known each other for forty-eight hours.”