Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
That’s it.
“Is this a joke?”
Holding the bag of food out, she shakes her head. “I know you haven’t eaten.”
“I’m done. You fucking win.” The words taste as bitter as they sound. I throw my arm up in the air, over all of it—her, this “vacation,” and every other fucking thing. I turn and storm toward the bedroom.
“Soooo, you want me to leave it on the island?” she calls, her voice tracking me down the hallway.
“I’d rather starve.” I slam the bedroom door behind me and pace in front of the windows. I don’t bother turning on the lights. I lie down instead, needing this nightmare to end.
9
Poppy
It was a peace offering.
Food. His food specifically.
Not a challenge.
Not meant as an insult.
Not even a rejection of the menu items he chose for us.
I don’t know how long I stand here, but long enough for it to turn awkward. Fairly certain he’s not coming out of that bedroom, I set the bag on the counter. Digging through an end drawer, I find a pen and scribble a message on it for him with a doodle. Not my best artwork, but it will do.
It’s probably best if I don’t deliver it in person. If he reacts like that to a food offering, who knows how he’ll react to a thank you.
He’d go bonkers.
I just need to accept that he has no interest in being friends, a new start, or any contact whatsoever. So why am I still standing here like he might?
My head tells me to get out quick. A swell in my chest tells me to stay.
“What do I do?” comes out on the end of a breath.
“The temperatures are dropping.”
When I look up, I’m met with the same blues that demand attention, but a sadness has permeated them since we met. “In here or outside?”
“Both could be said.”
“True,” I say, pushing the bag across the counter toward him. “A dish best served cold.” Can’t blame me for trying for humor. Selfishly, I’d love to see his smile that I got a sample of in the truck.
He looks down, and even though the only light is the moonlight sneaking in, I can see his grin. Although he is trying his best not to share it with me. Is a restrained smile his version of an olive branch? “Make sure the heat’s on, or you won’t survive the night out there.” Forget the smile. I’m going with the caring gesture he just offered.
His moods are whiplash-inducing, and I don’t want to trigger him back to the other side of the pendulum. It might be best to accept the win he said I won earlier, but I still have no clue what he meant, or I would.
“I will.” I still can’t force myself to leave, though.
The island divides us, but something bigger than what I’m aware of is taking up the space. He’s a big guy, at least six-three if not more based on hanging around Marina’s brothers so much growing up. So it could be just him, but I don’t think that’s it.
He remains where he is at the entrance to the hallway. He’s not wearing the flannel shirt he had hugging his broad shoulders, but the T-shirt and jeans are still in place. And he’s stripped his socks off, and his hair sticks up all over the place. I’ve seen him push his hand through it, but he went to battle this time. Poor sexy, messed-up hair. God, I’d love to run my fingers through it.
I look at the counter, knowing I shouldn’t have thoughts like that about Jerkface. Yet I just did. I should know better than to fall for the bad boy, but it’s easy to do when they look like he does.
Since I’m not in a place in my life where I’m choosing to redeem an asshole, I thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to go.”
A stare that holds a thousand emotions wrapped in one devastatingly dark package is all I’m gifted for the voyage toward the door. Even I can’t stand the heat in this kitchen any longer and step around the island. One step in front of the other is torture when you want someone to ask you to stay.
Why do I?
I was almost killed because of him.
He teased me about bears. Like who uses bear snark in the middle of the woods? I roll my eyes and pick up the pace. It would be stupid for me to stay anyway. I think it’s natural to assume a woman in his past has burned him. No one is mean like he is for no reason.
I grab the handle and am about to tug it open when he asks, “You know where the thermostat is, right?”
That's not exactly how I saw it playing out in my head, but he’s cracked the door open. Over my shoulder, our eyes meet once more, and I reply, “I do.”