Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Blake?” he asks, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”
“Shirt.” That’s the first word to come out of my mouth because the man isn’t wearing one.
“Get in here.” He reaches for my hand, the one that’s holding the bag with the pie. He swiftly takes the bag from me and tugs me into the house, closing the door. “Are you okay?” he asks again.
“Fine. I brought pie,” I blurt. My eyes rake over his chest. His abs look like peaks and valleys that my fingers would love to trace. And damn, I was right about the arm porn. I wonder if I could sneak a picture to show my mom and aunts.
No, not going there, Kincaid.
“Pie?”
I shake out of my thoughts. “Pie. Homemade. Although I don’t know which one of my family members made it, but it’s good. I promise. I had a piece earlier, but they sent me home with an entire pie and lots of food, more food than Isla…. That’s my roommate, did you know that? Anyway, way too much food, and I was driving by and saw the lights on and thought you might want some pie.” I pull my gaze away from the lovely view of his defined abs to see him smiling down at me.
“You brought me pie?” he asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
I nod, because he’s touching me, and for some reason, this man affects me like no other before him.
He steps closer, sliding his arm around my waist. “What kind of pie did you bring me?”
“P-Pumpkin.” I swallow hard. “Where is your shirt?”
He laughs. Not just a “ha-ha, you’re funny” kind of laugh; no, this one is from somewhere deep inside him. It’s a new sound I’ve never heard from him, and I’m already wondering what I can do or say to hear it again.
“This is my house, Blake. You came to me, remember?”
I ignore that, because he’s right. “Did you eat pie today?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I didn’t eat pie today.”
It takes a minute for his answer to register, and that quickly helps clear some of my fog. “No pie? Don’t tell me you hate Thanksgiving too?”
“No, I don’t hate Thanksgiving. My parents are at a medical conference. Brad and his wife, Marisa, invited me to eat with their family, but I declined. I stayed home and just had a chill day on my own.”
“Wait… you’ve been home alone all day? Today? On Thanksgiving?”
“I have.”
“I’ll be right back.” I go to step out of his hold, but he stops me, keeping a firm grip around my waist.
“Where are you going?”
“To my car. I’ll be right back.”
“It’s cold out. Tell me what you need, and I’ll go get it.”
“You have on less clothing than I do. I’ll be right back.” He’s not impressed, if his expression tells me anything, but he lets me go. After pulling open the front door, I jog down the steps to my car and tug open the passenger door. I grab the rest of the leftovers that I was sent home with and rush back inside.
“More pie?” he asks.
“No.” I raise the bags in the air. “This is Thanksgiving dinner.”
“You brought me dinner too?”
“Technically, it’s the massive amount of leftovers we all got sent home with, but since you didn’t have a proper Thanksgiving dinner, then yes, I brought you dinner too.”
“That’s yours, Blake.”
“Are you kidding me? Isla and I would never eat all of this. Besides, I’ve decided you’re eating.” I step around him, move toward the kitchen, and start unpacking the bags. He joins me, placing the pumpkin pie bag on the island before sliding onto a stool and watching me work.
“Are you going to eat with me?”
“No,” I groan. “I’m stuffed. I don’t think I could eat another bite.”
I collect a plate, remembering where I saw him grab them, and get to work piling turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, broccoli casserole, macaroni and cheese, corn, green beans, and stuffing onto the plate.
“Wow. You all really do go all out.”
“You have no idea.” I laugh as I pop the plate into the microwave and grab a fork from the drawer.
“You seem to know your way around my kitchen.”
“I pay attention.” The microwave beeps, and I make quick work of removing the plate, plopping two deviled eggs and two rolls on the side before placing it in front of him.
“That’s a lot of food.”
“That’s what Thanksgiving is about. Spending time with those who are special to you, being thankful for what you have, and eating way too much food.”
He stares down at the plate for a long time, so long in fact, I’m not sure he’s going to eat. His eyes finally find mine. “I’m thankful you’re here.”
My heart stalls in my chest. The look on his face, the earnest look in his eyes, cuts my chest wide open and wraps around my heart. “Me too, Ollie. Me too.”