Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“The heck you will.” He gave me a look so stern even the dog was startled, jumping off the bed to hunker by my feet. Perversely, his orders were reassuring, making my muscles warm and relaxed. He wasn’t cutting me loose. “You’re going to the doctor, and I’m coming in with you because I don’t trust you to tell Dr. Washington the whole truth.”
“Fine.” I made the executive decision to ignore how spot-on he was with his assessment that I’d omit or minimize certain details. “I’ll waste the good doctor’s time, but I really should find something different to wear.”
I spared a glance for my rumpled shirt and suit, which I’d moved from the bathroom to a corner chair.
“That suit needs burning. Here.” Sam dug around in a low dresser, coming up with a faded pair of jeans and a baby-blue T-shirt so soft it felt like feathers when he handed the items over. “You can borrow these.”
“Thanks. I didn’t exactly pack.”
“And you wonder why I think you need depression treatment?” He gave me a stare so hard I had to shift my weight from foot to foot.
“Hey, I could have driven off the Golden Gate—”
“Don’t even joke,” he snapped, going so pale I could see traces of the freckles he’d had all over as a kid.
“Sorry, Sam. I have a pretty warped sense of humor.”
“I’ll say.” Snatching a similar set of clothing for himself, he stomped off to the bathroom, leaving me to wonder where that funny, freckled-faced kid he’d been had gone.
I used the moment of privacy to dress and locate the belt he’d used the night before as a leash for Buttercup.
“Not sure when the last time I wore jeans was,” I joked, trying to find a way back to easiness between us as he emerged from the bathroom. He looked all Portland hipster in a heathered Blessed Bean T-shirt, dark-wash jeans, closer fitting than the ones he’d loaned me, and hair tamed with some sort of product. Smelled good too, like he’d taken a moment to shave.
“Well, if you’re planning to make a habit of going casual, you might want the next size up.” Tone matter-of-fact, he cast a critical eye over my attire. “You’re too skinny right now. We have to fix your stomach, then feed you better.”
“We?” A not-unpleasant shiver danced up my spine. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been a we before.
“You’re not alone,” he said firmly as he led the way downstairs. Apparently, he’d stamped down his earlier irritation. Being around someone who didn’t hold grudges was going to take some getting used to. Heck, that whole not-alone business was enough of a change, let alone facing a day back in Safe Harbor.
Chapter Six
Worth
Sam Bookman, the teen, had been everywhere, a whirling dervish of energy and bony limbs. I shouldn’t have been so surprised that Sam, the adult, was an absolute force of nature. While I took Buttercup to the yard, he busied himself making another plate of perfect toast and a mug of herbal tea for me.
“For the road.” He placed the food on the counter. “Better eat fast, though, because I’ve had two more messages from the coffee shop.”
“That sounds ominous.” Also ominous was the appearance of a pissed-off large Siamese cat who set Buttercup to barking before it sauntered off to the laundry room. “Heck. What will we do about Buttercup while we’re at the coffee house and urgent care?”
“I think the Humane Society opens at eight as well. We can drop her off at the shelter after—”
I cut him off with a noise so indignant I surprised myself. “She’s not dry cleaning or another errand. We are not just leaving her.”
“I didn’t mean we wouldn’t check up on her.” Sam placed a hand on my shoulder, but I stayed tense as he continued, “On the off chance that someone is looking for her, the shelter is the best place for her.”
“You think the same humans who scratched her name off her tag are looking for her?” I scoffed.
“Anything is possible.” He grinned widely, revealing the same dimples he’d had long ago but were way more devastating now. “But, no, it’s not likely. We should see if she’s microchipped at some point at least.” He paused as his phone vibrated again, then gestured at the side door. “Let’s head out. Bring Buttercup along, and we’ll figure something out for a dogsitter before the urgent care clinic.”
“Shouldn’t we have more of a plan?”
“Feel free to come up with one.” Sam grinned at me as he scooped up his keys and wallet from the counter. “A lot of my best ideas come from winging it.”
“Sounds terrifying.” I didn’t have to fake my shudder as Buttercup and I followed him out.
“Aren’t you the guy who drove over twelve hours without a plan?” He made a show of locking up, undoubtedly because I was watching and not out of habit.