Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
After such a rough initial meeting, I’m not exactly excited to enter the dragon’s lair, but at least Nathaniel left the door open for me, even if he wasn’t kind enough to help me stuff my soggy clothes back into my broken suitcase. I barely manage to get it all inside, and when I do, I barrel past the front door with all the gentleness of a bull in a china shop. I splay my suitcase on the ground and garments tumble out of it. I’m huffing and puffing with annoyance, and I immediately start whipping off layers, boiling hot now that I’m inside.
Nathaniel has done the same, hanging his jacket neatly on a hook on the door in the kitchen. He’s in a knitted navy sweater and dark jeans. Once he toes off his boots, he’s left in gray wool socks. I don’t know why I soften at the sight of him. This man has been nothing but cruel. It’s his cottage, I think; it would soften anyone.
It’s every bit as warm and welcoming as I’d hoped it would be when I first laid eyes on it. The space is small. The first floor only consists of a kitchen to the right of the entry and a sitting room on the left. Every spot has been put to good use though, filled with mismatched furniture and eclectic antiques, artwork, and books. So many books. They’re everywhere, along the shelves that flank the fireplace and inside a glass-doored armoire tucked behind a set of upholstered chairs. The first floor is lit by lamp and firelight, and though there are wooden beams spanning the ceiling, the walls are made from blocks of limestone and mortar.
With the drapes and throw pillows, the layered rugs and framed art, the entire place is more feminine than it would be if Nathaniel lived here alone, which means any minute now, a woman is going to come down those stairs and berate Nathaniel for treating me so poorly. I can’t wait to meet her. She’ll offer me a warm cup of tea instead of standing there, glaring at me the way Nathaniel is right now.
It’s clear that although he’s invited me into his cottage, he has no intention of treating me like a welcome guest.
CHAPTER 2
NATE
I settle my coat on the hook just as my new houseguest curses near the front door.
I have no idea what to make of her, Summer Collins from InkWell. She just arrived and already she’s a nuisance. I was about to sit down with a fresh cup of tea and power through the last few chapters of The Sound and the Fury when she knocked on my door. Now, the tea’s probably cold, and I can’t remember what was happening in the book where I left off.
I’ve made myself perfectly clear to InkWell: I want to be left alone. After sending away Suzanne, Kent, and Noel, I’m shocked Summer had the courage to show up here at all. I wish I could say she’s unannounced, but my publisher likely sent me an email warning me about her imminent arrival weeks ago and I just haven’t got around to reading it.
Either way, she’s not welcome here. I would march her out of my house right now, but the snow isn’t letting up, and I’m not prepared to let her wander out into the night and freeze to death.
I turn toward the foyer to make sure Summer’s shut the door, or maybe I just want a better look at her in the light. She’s standing in the foyer, her lavender jacket in a heap on top of her broken suitcase and all her clothes spilling out onto the floor. There are jeans, long-sleeved shirts, a set of cherry red pajamas…a pale pink bra.
Sensing where my eyes have fallen, she scowls. “Here, just give me some duct tape. I’ll fix it up and be on my way.”
I sigh because I’m already light-years ahead of her. I know her circumstances are worse than she realizes, and I’m going to have to be the bearer of bad news.
I prop my hands on my hips. “I don’t know what your plan is, but there’s no one who can help you in Sedbergh. Where are you planning to stay?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she says haughtily, undoubtedly sick of my judgmental stare. “The rental InkWell set up for me was not to my liking.”
Not to her liking?
Oh Jesus…that means they tried to book Crown House again.
“I’ll just find a hotel in Sedbergh,” she says confidently.
I shake my head slowly, annoyed by her youth and all that shiny wonder in her eyes. “Not going to happen. It’s off season—the town’s shuttered for winter. You’ll be directed on to Kendal or back down to Leeds, which is no use to you considering you have no car to get to either of those places.”