Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
The single dad I’m nannying for offered me the guest suite above his garage but was understanding about me wanting to put off moving in until we meet in person, and I make sure I click with his daughter. We chatted several times on the phone, of course, and he and Sarah Beth seem great, but like Gram always said—don’t bless the fish until it reaches land.
She also said never bolt the door with a boiled carrot.
Both seem like good advice for a sheltered twenty-eight-year-old on her first adventure away from home. I want to make sure Mr. McGuire is as great as he seems—and not inclined to get creepy with the nanny after hours—before I move into his guest suite.
I also want to have a little fun before I have to worry about my employer spying on me on Saturday nights. I want to stay out too late and dance until my feet hurt. I want to kiss a cute Minnesota boy, hear his heroic ice fishing tales, and maybe even take him home for the night.
I’ve never had a one-night stand or even kissed too much on the first date, but now seems like a great time to start. I’m the cute new girl in town, the men are definitely interested, and it’s been two years since Josh and I called it quits. I need to get laid nearly as much as I need this fresh start.
And I’ve spotted the perfect candidate for my “Start Life in Bad Dog with a Bang” mission…
The man at the opposite end of the bar is gorgeous—dark brown hair that’s shaggy in a cute way, sexy beard, and broad shoulders that fill the hell out of a flannel. Not to mention those moody brown eyes a movie star would kill for.
He’s also alone, playing solitaire with real cards, not on his phone, and has peeked my way more than once. But so far, he hasn’t made a move toward my side of the bar by the pinball machine with the talking trout on top.
If my sister, Peach, were here, she would insist I stay where I am and summon Mr. Sexy Flannel with my vibes. Peach is a big believer in vibes and making boys come to her. But the light is dim in Sawyer’s Lakeside Bar and Bistro and this move is about taking my destiny into my own hands. No more waiting for other people to give me a shot or forget that my last name is O’Leary.
I grab my still half-full martini, slide off my stool, and amble over to Sexy’s position near the jukebox, figuring I’ll whip up a “want to flirt?” line on the fly. I’ve had enough vodka to be feeling loose and brave, but not enough to say something stupid. If he turns out to be married, I’ll be able to extricate myself with minimal damage or embarrassment.
I’m about to ask him if he knows Crazy Eights, my favorite card game as a kid, when he glances over and says, “Go Fish? The one with the most points buys the next round. The loser shares his or her most embarrassing story?”
His voice is deep, rumbly. Absolutely perfect.
It’s also a tad familiar, but I chock that up to his male narrator vibes—I listen to a lot of audiobooks—and slide onto the stool next to his with a grin.
“That sounds like a good time.” I cock my head as I reach for the deck. “But I’ll warn you, I’m God Tier at Go Fish. You don’t stand much of a chance, new friend.”
“Then loser buys drinks and has to tell their most embarrassing story. I don’t want you to think I’m just after a free drink.”
I shuffle like the card shark I am. “You’re not? Then what are you after, Mr…”
“Drew,” he says, extending a hand. I clasp it tight, fighting a girlish sigh as his warm palm swallows mine whole.
I’m a petite woman, but not that petite. He’s simply enormous and even more handsome up close. He also smells like warm linen fresh out of the dryer with a top note of cedar and spice. I’m pretty sure I would be openly drooling if I didn’t have a martini glass to hide behind.
“I’m looking to blow off a little steam and enjoy a pretty woman’s company,” he continues. “Been a rough couple of weeks at work. You?”
“Friends call me Tatum, and I’m new here,” I say resuming my shuffling. “So, I’m looking for the skinny on all the best places to get breakfast and a detailed list of people to avoid if I want to stay sane in this particular small town.”
He laughs, his eyes crinkling delightfully at the edges.
He’s a little older than I am, but not too much older, and I’ve always had a thing for slightly older guys. They’re less likely to get mad at you for wanting to go to bed early or not wanting to have sex with cartoons blasting in the background. I rode Josh to the sound of Bart Simpson fighting with Homer so many times that The Simpsons memes give me flashbacks.