Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
His hunger hit him like a freight train. He sat up—he’d turned onto his side during his sleep—and a lightweight blanket slid to his lap. He stared at the pale pink throw blankly. Fern must have placed it over him while he slept. The sweet thoughtfulness of the gesture created an unfamiliar heat in his chest and he absently lifted his hand to massage the painful ache that had returned to that spot.
His headache was completely gone, with none of the lingering grogginess he usually experienced after the bad ones.
He felt amazing. Revitalized, refreshed… like he could conquer whole planets.
He rolled his shoulders and neck. No stiffness. No pain.
“How are you feeling?” Fern’s soft, concerned voice—closer than he’d expected—took him by surprise and his head whipped up to see her curled up in the corner—the “L” part—of the massive sectional. She was sitting only a few inches away from where his feet must have been resting.
She was huddled under a lap blanket, and had an e-reader in one hand and a glass of milk in the other.
“Much better,” he admitted, not sure how he felt knowing that she’d been right there while he slept. He was a very private man and the thought of someone watching him when he was at his most vulnerable was unsettling.
Then again, they were married. Such intimacies were allowed between married couples, weren’t they?
She tucked her e-reader against her chest, while her lovely eyes slowly roved over his face. She finally seemed to take him at his word and nodded, tucking a wayward strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail behind her ear.
“You should eat and hydrate, it’ll prevent recurrence. I made a Bolognese—nothing fancy—with a salad and garlic bread.”
“Sounds fantastic. I’m ravenous.” He found his T-shirt, wadded up on the sofa next to him, and dragged it back on. He was up and in the kitchen seconds later. She’d plated a generous amount of pasta for him and left it covered in the microwave. He found the bread in the oven and salad in the fridge.
He had his meal heated and ready a couple of minutes later.
“Do you need anything?” he asked, while retrieving a bottle of water from the fridge.
“I’m good thanks. I have a bit of heartburn… too much garlic, I think. Hence the milk.” She lifted the glass in salute.
He carried his loot over to the coffee table and rejoined her on the couch, scarfing down the first few bites and moaning in pure, unadulterated appreciation when the flavors hit his tongue.
“God, this is amazing,” he murmured around a mouthful of food, forgetting his table manners.
“Glad you like it,” she said, a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, lifting her lips.
He took a few more bites, assuaging his immediate hunger, before looking at her.
“Are the stomach issues still bad?” he asked. “The morning sickness and that?”
“It hasn’t eased up much. I live in hope. But the heartburn is getting bad. I was really craving something garlicky, which presents a problem because garlic is one of the worst offenders when it comes to my heartburn. Garlic and—” she sighed, the sound was filled with regret. “Can you believe it? Chocolate?”
He grimaced in sympathy.
“I’m sorry about the heartburn,” he told her. “But, not gonna lie, I’m really happy the craving won out. Because this is really hitting the spot.”
“I’m glad,” she said, sounding sincere.
“Thank you,” he murmured, after taking a thirsty drink of water. “For earlier. It really helped. Where did you learn to do that?”
She drained her glass and set it aside, then stared down at the screen of her e-reader for a moment, picking at bits of dust and lint that only she could see.
The silence stretched awkwardly until she finally spoke again.
“I had one friend at school, I think I mentioned her before?”
He vaguely recalled her mentioning a friend. The one who’d attempted to help her establish a life independent of the Abernathys.
He nodded.
“Her name was Margot, I met her when I was fourteen—during my second year at Blessed Heart Academy. She used to get these tension headaches, I wanted to help her. I did research into what essential oils would help ease a headache, and how to do neck and head massages. It worked for her, I thought maybe it would help you too.”
“It did. Thank you.”
“Are…” She frowned down at her e-reader, determinedly avoiding his eyes. “Are yours tension headaches as well?”
“Yeah. I don’t give them much thought. They’re not particularly debilitating, merely inconvenient. Just something to be tolerated usually.”
“Kind of like me, then,” she said with a nervous laugh.
Her lame little joke fell into the space between them and floundered like a dying fish.
Cade wasn’t entirely sure what to say in response to her words, because—honestly?—that was how he’d perceived her at first. But hearing her speak the words out loud now made him uncomfortable and he was no longer so sure they were the absolute truth.