Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
I yawned. “Oh, no. Was it a work thing? Did I miss the first work thing? I’m sorry if—”
“No, it was just me. I thought we could go over a few things and have dinner.”
That was a first—him voluntarily offering to talk and have dinner. “Go over things…like?”
“We’ll do it another time. I’m assuming you’re done here since you were sleeping?”
The guy didn’t budge. He didn’t smile. He certainly didn’t laugh or look happy or look…anything other than broody and serious, really.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was just taking a break, resting my eyes and I guess I dozed off for a little while.”
Looking around the shop with disapproval, he shook his head. “It’s not safe for you to be here alone at night, let alone fall asleep. What if you hadn’t locked the door, which you forgot to do before? It could’ve been anyone walking through that door and finding you sleeping.”
“But I didn’t forget to lock the door. It was just that one time. I’ve been making sure it’s locked no matter what time it is,” I countered. I wouldn’t admit that for a brief moment when I’d heard his hard knock, I’d been just a bit scared.
My reply earned me another disapproving look. “I see you finally got your chairs,” he commented, his gaze taking everything in.
“Yes. The delivery was delayed, but I finally got them a few hours ago. What do you think?” I asked. Even I could hear the hopeful tone in my voice. He was the first one to see the place filled with the furniture and so close to what it would look like on opening day. I was desperate to hear from someone that it wasn’t just my imagination and it actually did look good.
Our eyes met as I held my breath, waiting.
“About?” he asked.
I tamped down the urge to groan.
He couldn’t find any fault in them—there was no way. They looked perfect with the color scheme. Elegant, chic, comfy, inviting—all the good stuff. So, I smiled instead and tried again. “Everything. The chairs, tables, everything.”
He followed my gaze, but his hard features stayed exactly the same, not a single smile in sight.
“Is it done?”
“Not yet,” I said slowly, my smile dimming. “I’m working on it, but it’s pretty close now.”
All eleven—I hated that it was an odd number—of my wooden round tables were exactly where I wanted them, and I’d placed the brownish nude cotton-velvet chairs that looked gorgeous with the flooring and the freshly painted walls in their places. I’d also taken out the black steel bar stools and the dark green cushions from the kitchen where I’d kept them stacked. They were the same material as the chairs, and I had put them all in front of the coffee bar I had running along the front windows. It already looked amazing, but apparently only to my eyes.
“Never mind,” I said, breaking the silence in an effort to avoid hearing Jack’s negative thoughts. His rigid body language and disapproving gaze were telling me everything I didn’t want to hear anyway. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to deal with this. If you need to be somewhere else, I wouldn’t want to keep you. I’m gonna be here for another hour I think, to put some stuff up.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but I got there before he could.
“I know—I’ll go to your place when I’m done here. You don’t have to keep coming back here every day. I know the way.”
His hands in his pockets, he walked toward the big archway that connected the two sections of the coffee shop and turned toward the back, out of my sight. I’d have bet money he was shaking his head after noticing my bookcase sprawled on the floor, or if not that, he was probably scalding the bookcase with a disapproving look. I’d assembled it just fine on my own, but I hadn’t dared to actually lift it and move it. That would be the next day’s job, or the next. It all depended on how my back was feeling.
“How are you planning to get in exactly?” he asked, his voice just barely rising so I could hear him.
“Get in where?”
“Into my apartment—our apartment.”
Our apartment. Dear God. Exactly when would I get used to the fact that I was living with this man now, and how, for two entire weeks, had it not even crossed my mind how I’d get back into his little mansion? Then again, since he came to the coffee shop every night to pick me up, I had no reason to think of keys.
To be fair, he had never acted as if I wasn’t welcome in his home. Sure, he was curt and exasperating sometimes, but still, every night, he offered to give the tour he had mentioned that first night and asked if I’d had anything to eat. You’d think that was sweet of him, but that was all he would say. Still sweet though.