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)
“Ready to go?” Sam came up next to me and gently touched my back.
“Please.” I made a broken sound.
“I’ve got you.” He rubbed soothing circles between my shoulder blades. “Be right back.”
I didn’t watch him walk back over to the seating arrangement. I could hear him saying something to the guys. I didn’t much care what. Just as long as I got out of there.
Back in my car, loaded into the passenger seat with Buttercup, I fiddled with the A/C with trembling fingers.
“I’m cold. It’s July, and I’m freezing.” I turned toward Sam. “Why am I freezing?”
“You’ve had a really long day.” Eyes soft, he reached for me, face coming so close his warm breath gusted across my cheek, and I braced for a kiss only to have him buckle my seatbelt for me. “Someday, you’ll be ready to talk to Cal about the recovery operation. He’s no stranger to loss. He’ll understand.”
“That will make one of us.” I snorted bitterly as Sam headed back to my—his—house.
“How about a hot shower or tub?” he asked as he pulled in next to his car. He came around to wait by my door for me, exactly like Buttercup and I were real princesses and he our loyal footman.
“That tub did look nice.” My voice came out far too wistful. “I’m too old for baths though. And a dude.”
“Where in the toxic masculinity MBA handbook does it say you can’t take a bubble bath?” Sam shook his head and led the way into the house, which, sure enough, he’d left unlocked at some point. “I’ll go start the tub. And just for that, you’re getting bubbles and bath oil.”
“Okay.” I was already learning not to argue with Sam when he got all bossy. And an hour later, I was finally warm. My stomach was even relaxed enough to not protest my first dose of antidepressant medication and the evening dose of meds for the ulcer. Sam had thoughtfully put PJ pants on the towel rack for me when he’d started the tub, and I emerged far closer to human than I’d been in days.
“Wow. I guess I’ve been missing out. That was pretty epic. Thank you.”
“You seriously haven’t had a bath since you were a kid?” Sam was lounging on the bed.
“Nah.” I rolled my neck from side to side. “I kind of suck at self-care.”
“I’ve noticed.” He gave me a pointed look and then yawned. “Where did you want to sleep tonight?”
“Mmm.” I looked at the side of the bed I’d occupied the night before. Buttercup was already there looking all hopeful. “Guess I can’t put you out two nights in a row. Is there another room with a bed?”
Sam scooted over slightly and moved Buttercup to the bottom of the bed with an oof. “You’re always welcome here, Worth. I just didn’t want you feeling obligated or weird.”
“I don’t.” I sank gratefully against the pillows, pulling the comforter to my chin. “You’re the only thing about this whole mess that feels right.”
“I’m glad.” His voice was as soft as his hand on my shoulder. “Sleep well.”
He rolled to his side of the bed, and I made a noise not unlike an angry pigeon.
“Pardon?” He appeared over my shoulder, and I tugged him against me, wiggling until he was securely pressed to my back.
“There. Perfect.”
Perhaps nothing else was. Nothing else made sense. That much was sure. But Sam spooning me, warm body against mine, breath on my neck, arm around me. That made sense. A flicker of perfect to go along with that glimmer of hope earlier. It was a start.
Chapter Nine
Sam
“Hey, Worth? I’m home.” The sentence felt weird leaving my lips. I was still getting used to this house being my home, not to mention Worth in it.
When I’d first purchased the Stapleton house, I’d resisted moving in because…reasons. Good reasons. Like the renovations needing to be completed. And silly reasons like I hadn’t been able to pick a room. Nor had I wanted to come home to a huge empty house. I’d spent thirty-odd years in the same place, first in the house with my parents, then in an apartment over the garage, so the change in address felt decidedly weird and a little lonely, not having someone to wave at as I came in. I had a vision for the place, but even now, with Worth’s reappearance, that vision felt a long way off.
But the place did feel less empty, knowing Worth was here. I’d walked faster on the way back, pulse speeding up because Worth Stapleton was waiting at my house, maybe even asleep in my bed. I’d sent him back here earlier after the morning shift because he’d had a headache. I’d told him to look over the accounting stuff for the coffee house on my ancient laptop, but I had actually hoped he’d nap.