Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
His huge arms fold around me as we both look out and up to the sky above.
“It’ll all work out. You’ll see,” he whispers, reading my mind again. Pecking the top of my head, my hands grip his forearms, holding them closer over my chest. Next to my heart.
I hope so… I really hope so.
Ash and I sit and soak up the mineral-rich waters. Unlike a regular bath that would make me sleepy, the hot spring relaxes us both but also makes us feel alert. Or it could be that three-hour nap-coma I just had, but I notice a couple of times that Ash is jumpy with the thunder.
When I ask him about it, he sounds sheepish.
“I’ve never liked storms much,” he murmurs.
I feel bad for making him sit out here like this now, but he’s quick to add that he’s never enjoyed one until tonight.
“Just maybe not as much as you do,” he adds, making us both laugh when a deep thunderclap booms in the distance.
The water never gets cold in a thermal spring, but Ash comments after we’ve soaked wrinkles into our fingertips and toes that staying in too long isn’t recommended.
“Is it bad for you?” I ask, but he smiles, helping me out.
“Not bad, just wrinkly,” he says, showing me his fingers, and I look down at my own.
“C’mon, let’s get you inside and next to the fire,” he says, scooping me up again and carrying me like he’ll never tire from it.
There’s a gas-lit log fire in the dining area across from the kitchen, and Ash is quick to set me in front of it, covering my shoulders with a towel.
I crease a frown when he covers himself with one too, and heads for the kitchen. He remarks he’s not making us hot dogs for dinner.
“Huh?” I ask.
“I don’t wanna burn my wiener,” he calls back, making me laugh, then wince a little.
No. No, we don’t want that.
I’m dry in no time, and from a single glance, I can tell Ash wants me naked while he cooks and while I eat.
Like the water outside, the house is the perfect temperature, so although it feels weird at first, once he’s done with his sizzling and lets his own towel fall, I know we’ll both be dining in our birthday suits.
Like Ash, I love a bloody red steak, and he cooks us both up more meat than I’ve seen in one day, especially today.
And he prepares and serves it with the air of a professional cook.
“We don’t starve down at the station,” he quips, looking hungrily from the plates to my naked chest and then back to the food again. He sets the plates on the dining table that he’s covered with the white cloth.
The pretty local flowers are arranged in a vase, and even those floating candle things orbit slowly in a glass bowl he’s half-filled with water and some of the flower petals.
“You’ve never done this before, have you?” I ask with sarcasm.
“I…I haven’t,” he says, looking deflated. But I don’t think he catches on that I’m only kidding.
Nobody’s ever done anything so nice and nice-looking for me. Not ever.
“Then I’m glad, Ash. Because it’s perfect, I love it. I….”
I stop myself from saying it, and there’s an awkward pause before he commands me to eat.
I don’t want to scare Ash off by saying things like “I love you” on our first date.
It’s an unconventional first date, sure. And the order of things has been shifted around. But it’s still too soon for me to come out with that.
Isn’t it?
He doesn’t press me for it, but his hungry look develops a new edge as he eyes me forking one lump after another of the best steak I’ve had into my mouth.
“Good?” he asks knowingly.
“The best!” I exclaim, and he tells me more about the local butcher from whom he gets all his meat. Tells me in a way that gets me thinking about how a girl really could have all she needs out here.
Natural hot spring bath, huge house in the country. Man of the decade to while away the hours with….
What’s not to love about the place?
Especially when I compare it to my parent’s house.
I’m barely halfway through my dinner, and I am full. And Ash is already asking if I want a second helping.
Piling his own plate high with potato salad, thinking aloud if he wants one more steak or two.
“One and a half?” I offer, eyeing my plate.
“Bridget!” he exclaims, pressing his hand to his heart. He’s doing his best offended-cook impression because I can’t eat two pounds of beef in one sitting like he can.
“It’s half my size,” I protest, which gets me off the hook as he grins and resumes eating.
Ash helps himself to everything I can’t manage on my own from my plate.