Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 21027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Maybe she was embarrassed at me seeing her like that, but it didn’t feel that way to me. She never stopped to consider what it was like on my side of those events, and having her ditch me like that hurt. If I wasn’t so fucking obsessed with her, this would have never happened.
After I’m dressed, I grab my coat and then swing by Emily’s place to pick her up. She looks at my car skeptically before getting in.
“Is your other one in the shop?” she asks, and I shake my head. We haven’t talked since she walked in on Tinsel and me, and I’m not ready to hash it out now.
“I’m having it detailed. They said it would be a few more days.” She seems chipper this morning, so I’m assuming she talked to her fiancé last night. Which is good because it gives me a chance to change the subject. “How’s Jacob?”
“Great!” She latches on to the question and dives in about one of his expeditions and how they’re counting down the days until they get to reunite.
As much as I like Emily, my heart isn’t in it today. I’m distracted by thoughts of Tinsel and the fact that she’s off limits. Also that she didn’t leave her apartment all fucking weekend. I would know because I stalked her like a desperate psychopath. She and her brother have that in common, I guess. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him since he ditched me at Jingle Bar, and all I got was a text saying he’d catch me up later. What the fuck is going on with the two of them?
“That’s awesome,” I say for the tenth time as I pretend to listen to what Emily is saying. I’m being a terrible friend, but Tinsel has somehow gotten under my skin, and I can’t get her out of my head.
“Looks like a full house at Snow Baked.”
I park out front and see she’s right. The place is packed, but there’s no patrol car in sight. I know for a fact Tinsel is supposed to be on duty, and she’s usually here at the same time every morning. Which is the only reason I come with Emily now.
It’s the busy season, and I should know because the Inn is booked solid for the next two months. I love being busy and having so many visitors in town, but it does make it hard to get around at the best local spots.
When we walk inside, I immediately scan for Tinsel but don’t see her. Frostie has two other helpers with her today, and they’re busy making coffee and taking orders. Emily and I wait in line, and I’m fidgeting the whole time. It feels like it takes hours but is probably only a five-minute wait before I get to the front.
“Hey guys, what can I get—”
“Where’s Tinsel?” I ask a little more forcefully than I intended and cut off Frostie in the process.
“Um.” She glances up and then her eyes quickly move away as she shrugs and pretends not to know. “I think she took a sick day.”
“Aww, that’s too bad,” Emily says, and Frostie latches on to it.
“I know, right?”
She’s lying.
“A sick day.” I scoff because Tinsel has never taken a day off in her life.
“It’s true.” Frostie’s voice goes up higher, and it’s all the proof I need.
“You can drive back,” I tell Emily as I pass her the keys. “I’m going upstairs.”
“That’s breaking and entering!” Frostie calls out after me, but I ignore her as I walk to the back of the bakery. “This is an outrage.” I hear some of the people in line laugh as I push open the door to the kitchen and then walk out the back.
A set of stairs takes me up to the apartment on top of the bakery, and when I get to the door, I hammer on it loudly with my fist. There’s music coming from the other side, and I pound on it again to get Tinsel’s attention.
“Jesus, get your panties out of your ass—” She stops talking when she swings open the door and sees me standing there. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say, and when she narrows her eyes, I’m reminded of how much I love fighting with her.
This is what I’ve missed the past two days. The banter, the tension, the way her eyes soften at the corners when she’s smug. Shit, I’m obsessed with her.
“I live here, Jack-ass.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and I realize she’s wearing my shirt.
She’s wearing my fucking shirt!
“Nice nightgown,” I say as I take my time looking her up and down. My eyes linger on her bare legs, and I have no shame.
“It’s laundry day,” she rushes to say, and the lie sticks in her throat. “This, um, was all I had left.”