Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 122216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I come to my senses and push away, though I look down for a moment to check my footing first. “Can’t I just have my lights?” I glare up at him, giving him my best death stare, hoping it will instill the fear of God in him.
He only smiles. “We can talk about it while we eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I lie. I haven't eaten today, which is very unlike me. My second favorite thing to do is cook. I haven’t been doing that much these past few weeks, because I’ve been so focused on getting my home ready for Christmas decorating. Everything else has been put on the back burner.
“Ten boxes of icicle lights say you’re plenty hungry.” He quirks an annoying smile. Handsome devil. I feel like Eve in the garden and he’s the serpent trying to sway me into doing what he wants with the promise of lights instead of an apple.
My stomach growls, betraying me, and his smile gets bigger. “Sure sounds as though you’re hungry.”
I frown and brush past him, entering the diner. I might as well get this over with. The sooner, the better. I’ll eat, get my lights, and then return to my happy Christmas house.
I pause when he doesn't follow me. Looking back, I see he’s picking up my purse and cleaning up everything that dumped out all over the place. Crap. I rush back outside with no clue what was in my bag.
“Give me that.” I snatch it from his hands. “I don’t need you stealing something.”
He laughs again! What is so funny? I’m angry plus some other emotions I’ve never felt in my whole life, and he keeps on laughing like this is funny. Why do I want to punch him and kiss him and then punch him some more? Horrified at my own thought—kissing him?—I fist my hands.
“I bought those lights. No stealing took place.” He pulls off his coat and drops it over my shoulders. “It’s too cold for you to be roaming around without a coat on.” Next, he drapes his arm over my shoulder as he guides me into the diner. My stomach lets out another embarrassing moan at the smell of all the food. There’s a reason I have all these curves.
“Two,” he tells the hostess who guides us to a table, giving us both a menu. “She’ll have a hot chocolate and I’ll take a coffee, black.”
“Hey.” I wrinkle my nose. “That’s not what I want.”
“Sorry, angel,” he says, giving me a small smile. “She’ll also have extra marshmallows in her hot chocolate,” he annoyingly tells the waitress without even consulting with me. Even though he’s right, it still gets on my nerves. What the heck? How does he even know this stuff about me? The server scribbles it down on her pad before taking off to get our drinks.
“How did you know what I wanted if you didn't even know I lived across the street from you?” I narrow my eyes at him, trying to mask the small trace of hurt I feel about it. I’ve noticed him and his handsome face. Wait. Did he just call me angel? My cheeks warm a touch at his term of endearment.
“I’m good at reading people.” He shrugs.
I don’t know what to do with that. Good at reading them but doesn't know they live across the street from him? Whatever. He keeps looking at me as the server sets down our drinks. Something about his stare sends heat cascading through me, flickering down like the icicle lights.
“Are you ready to order?” the server asks.
Crap, I haven't looked at the menu yet. I cover. “I’d like all the icicle lights in his car.”
“Angel, you can’t eat those.” He laughs like I’m making a joke. “She’ll have the eggs Benedict but instead of Canadian bacon, make it real bacon and extra crispy.”
The server looks at me.
I nod because that actually sounds really good. I love eggs Benedict. It’s the one thing that I haven't mastered in the kitchen, no matter how many times I’ve tried.
“And for you, sir?”
“The lumberjack. I’m sure my angel will want to steal some of my pancakes.” He hands the server our menus, after ordering for us like a couple that has been together for years. What game is he playing? How did he know I love pancakes? I guess everyone loves pancakes so it’s not that odd that he’d get that right. Some things aren’t adding up, but I’ll play along with his little game. The server moves away from the table, and we sit in silence for a few moments. He looks as though he’s taking me in, which causes me to get nervous again. I fight not to fidget in my seat.
“Let’s cut the crap,” I blurt out because the silence is too much to bear. I narrow my eyes at him. “What do I have to do to get my hands on those lights? Name your price.”