Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“That’s what you think.”
“Go try lying down again.”
“Okay.”
She cried her way to the couch, set down the soup, and fell face forward onto the cushions. Sig felt helpless on his way back down the stairs and out of the building, where he stopped short, raking a hand through his hair.
Bad news: the fucking bird was dead.
“Jesus Christ.” He paced a little, ignoring the passersby that snapped pictures of him with their phones. As soon as the coast was clear, he hunkered down and used a tree branch to dig a bird grave, lowering tweetie into it with a few muttered words of remembrance. Swiping dirt off the knees of his jeans, he made his way back up to the apartment, letting himself in. “Good news, I didn’t see the bird anywhere. It must have flown off.”
Chloe sat up, looking hopeful. “Really? Because you were gone a long time.”
“Yeah, well. I was doing a really thorough search.”
“Oh.” She pressed a hand to her chest, tension ebbing. “Thank goodness.”
“Yup.”
“Do you want to watch a movie with me?” She picked up the remote. “I was thinking of putting on A Star Is Born.”
A tearjerker. In her state? Terrible plan. “How about a comedy?”
Her eyes turned glassy. “Maybe that’s a better idea.”
Sig went over and sat beside Chloe on the couch, smiling when she situated the blanket so he could have half. For the first forty-odd minutes of the movie, he bit the inside of his cheek while she struggled to find a comfortable position. And then he threw out every last ounce of his common sense and dragged her sideways into his lap, tucking her head beneath his chin and slowly, hesitantly, rubbing her belly with his knuckles.
She sighed happily and didn’t move for the next hour, except to laugh.
And it was the happiest and most capable he’d ever felt . . . ever.
Now, as she played the last note of her song, concluding the concert, he stood up and almost decimated the bouquet of roses, trying to clap while they were still in his hands. When Chloe appeared to be searching for someone in the crowd, he almost shouted, Who are you looking for? That way, he could track that person down and take them to her.
Turned out, it was him, though.
Him.
As soon as she spotted Sig, she sucked in a breath and waved, before finally exiting the stage, leaving him standing there with a knot in his throat, as the applause died down. His row had almost cleared completely by the time he remembered Chloe had gotten him permission to go backstage after the show—and he went there now, wanting to see her, of course, but also wanting to get the fucking roses out of his hands before they were as lifeless as tweetie.
Sig made his way to the stage door and gave his name to a security guard, waded through a sea of well-heeled people accustomed to classical music and Thursday night concertos—and he finally caught sight of Chloe.
Surrounded by dudes.
Musicians.
Vaguely, he recognized a lot of them from the show. Violinists, pianists, and whatnot.
One sweep of their rapturous expressions told Sig all he needed to know. They were down bad. Every one of them. She dazzled them effortlessly with her constant motion and animated hand gestures and those gorgeous, expressive eyes. And they were all sorely out of luck. Because no one got close to Chloe. No one but him.
A gut instinct as destructive as it sounded.
Sig cleared his throat as he got closer to Chloe and her group of admirers. He watched her stop midsentence, turn and launch straight into him, wrapping both her arms around his neck, the front of her body molding to his muscle. Making eye contact with every single member of her fan club, he lifted her off the ground and kissed her temple.
“Hey, dream girl.” He squeezed her closer. “You were incredible.”
Don’t even think about it, he mouthed at the quartet of guys. I’m as mean as I look.
They paled, before all moving in opposite directions at once.
Chloe didn’t notice because her arms were still slung snugly around his neck, the side of her cheek pressed to his shoulder. “Did you bring me flowers?”
Sig hummed. “There should be at least one or two left intact.”
“Big hockey hands. Fragile flowers,” she murmured, smiling. “Not a match.”
He tightened his hold that final degree, making her gasp in his ear—and he went too far. One of many times he would go too far with Chloe. God help them both. “These hands can handle fragile things just fine when necessary, Chlo.”
Over the top of her head, Sig could see people were beginning to take note of their too-long embrace and he reluctantly set her down. She stared at him for several seconds, probably replaying his comment and wondering if he’d meant it like it sounded. Eventually, however, she visibly shook herself and looked around. “Oh.” She reared back. “Where did everyone go?”