Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Yoo-hoo! Christian. I have your sweater.”
This travesty she’s gripping for dear life has more wiry strands than Angel and her sweater combined. I’m one inhalation away from catastrophe and too scared at the prospect of being mufficated to act my age.
I curl my arm around Angel’s waist and pluck her from the line with numerous promises that I will guarantee her return next year before I sprint us down a side alley.
Angel grunts from the swiftness of my strides, but that’s the most of her protest.
Well, until we reach a safe distance from Mrs. Roach and her nightmare-inspiring sweater. “Spill. Now. Or I’ll ask Mrs. Roach if her sweaters also come in everyday-wear designs.”
Grimacing, I tug on the collar of my shirt before gesturing for her to lead me to the closest bar. “I need a stiff drink.”
Angel laughs before doing as asked.
During the short two-block walk, I tell her the story of my first pearl dive.
Shockingly, she doesn’t badger me about it.
She appears genuinely sympathetic.
I hook my thumb behind us. “Did they defrost your frozen heart or make it grow three times its size?”
She punches me in the stomach, winding me. “I’m being sincere because I can’t say I don’t understand your phobia.”
“A snake in long grass?” I ask, attempting to decipher her horrid look.
Her nose screws up before her chin bobs. “He swears it was there somewhere, but I couldn’t find it.”
I’m an ass for laughing, but it can’t be helped. I’m picturing things I shouldn’t be picturing. It was either laugh or spew. I went for the less messy one.
We make it halfway into an Irish pub when a jingle stops Angel in her tracks. She’s been enduring Christmas carols for hours this afternoon, but understandably, this one affects her the most.
While Michael Bublé croons about coming home for Christmas, I guide Angel out the door she walked through only moments ago before straying my eyes up and down the street.
At this time of the year, my options are limited. I either go for a tattoo shop that should look out of place between a boutique dress shop and a high-end jewelry store but somehow doesn’t, or a bakery.
I go for the bakery, hopeful the owner’s apparent friendship with Angel will ensure she’s not pushed out of her comfort zone for the third time today.
“Hey,” greets a gorgeous woman in her late twenties with auburn hair and a bright smile.
My assumptions about this bakery being a safe haven for Angel are accurate when the lady with “Harlow” stitched on her apron switches off a radio blaring a familiar tune behind the counter, cutting off Michael Bublé mid-chorus. “Christian, right?”
I jerk up my chin.
Harlow’s smile turns blinding. “We’re full, but if you’re happy to eat out, we have a picnic basket special you can enjoy along the waterfront. It is only a block from here but far from”—she waves her hand around the bursting-at-the-seams bakery—“this.”
“You don’t need to leave. The couple at table 12 just asked for their bill, so they’ll be—”
The woman operating a coffee machine howls when Harlow stomps on her foot before she gives her a look that only a blind man could misinterpret.
She’s playing matchmaker.
Her scheming face matches Tahlia’s whenever she tried to act like she had no clue her single girlfriend was coming over for tea the same night as my apparent “impromptu” invite.
Since I’m not opposed to some help, I say, “A picnic basket special will be great, thanks.”
With the cause of her stupor state no longer present, Angel’s focus snaps back to the present. “We will take a bundt cake and two large decafs to go.”
“Decaf? Eww.” Harlow shifts her eyes to the barista. “Izzy was right. Those instalove sparks are hot enough to scald.” Her eyes return to Angel before they flare with mischievousness. “You’ll need more than an early night to get out of those flames unscathed, honey. Caffeine-free veins won’t cut it.”
I gawk at Harlow, silently pleading for her to cough up the source of her magic when Angel neither protests at her request for Renee to switch our coffee to regular nor her offer for our purchases to be on the house.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to pay?” I ask after moving forward in the line to collect our order a few minutes later.
Harlow brushes off my offer with a smile. “I’m sure.” She hands me the bag holding a funky-looking cake but doesn’t remove her hand. She uses her grip on the flimsy bag to launch me to her half of the counter. “But if you hurt her, don’t think you’ll only have to look over your shoulder for Izzy and Ryan. The entire town will hunt you down.” She lowers her voice to a chilling whisper. “We built caves for a reason. To hide bodies.” Quicker than the flick of a light switch, her personality shifts back to chipper. “Thank you for supporting Harlow’s Scrumptious Haven. I hope you have a great day.”