Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
I take him in.
Of course he is immaculate.
I would have expected him to look at least a little bit sleepy or unprepared. But I clearly underestimated him yet again. In a crisp plaid shirt and khaki shorts with a belt, with his hair cleanly parted and face freshly shaven, Cole looks ready for a television spot or first date. He’d make a lasting impression.
Did I say first date?
This isn’t a date.
This is an interview. A professional interview for my job.
Besides, I shouldn’t have expected less. He knew I intended to bring my camera to get some candids of him in his house. Of course he made an effort to look his best. Everyone in Spruce may see the photos we take today.
Still, his appearance makes me feel like I should have given a lot more thought to my own. I feel underdressed in my loose shirt, cargo shorts, and baseball cap. Why am I even wearing a baseball cap in the first place? Because the colors match my shirt? I don’t even like baseball.
“Please excuse the broken vase,” says Cole with a wince. “My dog got … a little too excited when she heard someone at the door. We basically starve her for attention all day long. It’s terrible. I’m a bad dog daddy. She’s been contained, no longer a threat, any and all foreseeable vase-breaking crises have been averted. Come in!”
He steps back, opening the door further. I take my first step into the house, notebook hugged to my chest where the camera hangs heavy. In the front entryway, I see a neatly-swept-up pile of shattered porcelain next to an empty table, which I assume once held said vase. The entryway opens to the living room, where Cole takes me. Everything is surprisingly clean and orderly, as if the house was recently staged to be sold, totally picturesque down to every detail. Even the throw blanket on the back of the couch is wrinkle-free and perfectly in place.
I don’t know what it is about all the cleanliness here, but I find it calming to my otherwise racing mind. Maybe when I get back home, I should straighten up a few things in my own house.
I just stepped foot in his house and am already thinking about going home. Typical me.
Cole leads me to a pair of armchairs that rest near a set of tall windows overlooking the backyard. “Are these okay? I considered us doing this outside in a pair of nice wicker chairs, but thought it might get warm. Oh, I haven’t been outside, I just realized. Is it—?”
“It’s temperate.”
“Temperate. Sounds nice! Anyway, if you get bored or want to stretch your legs, or maybe your camera’s thirsty for a lovely new environment, we can move out to the garden. Just say the word!”
I smile. Or at least I think I’m smiling. Sometimes I forget to. “I think this will be fine. Can we start?”
“Oh. Uh … yes! Of course, yes, we can start. We can just … dive right on in. I was going to get you something to drink, too, if you wanted anything. I can put a bowl of, uh … nuts or chips out, too. Won’t be anything fancy like we had last night, but—”
“I had a granola bar at home.”
Cole smiles, appears to decide not to delay any further, and sits down in one of the armchairs. Even the way he sits is so regal and practiced, like he took a class somewhere on how to properly sit in a chair that makes him look both strong, elegant, and utterly gracious. I find it both impressive and confusing. Are these sorts of qualities something that develop over time, or was Cole somehow born acting this way?
The precise way in which he sits also draws attention to the strength of control in his arms. He’s toned and clearly strong, but not overly muscled. There is something careful and calculated in his movements, even when he does something as simple as sit in a chair. It makes me wonder how much care he gives everything else in his day-to-day life.
The care he took in putting his arm protectively around me at the Strongs’.
The speed at which he charged across the street to embrace me and protect me at the festival.
Even the delicate way in which he focuses his eyes upon me, like he’s even careful with the strength of his gaze.
“Noah?”
I come out of it. “Sorry.” I take a seat in the other chair, then make a surprising discovery of how mysteriously soft the cushion is as it attempts to swallow my body into it like it’s hungry. I have to battle gravity to free the majority of my butt out of its greedy, cushy grasp, which is a bit trickier to do than it sounds, as I lack the aforementioned muscular finesse that Cole clearly possesses.