Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
And yet, here I am, scanning the laminated menu in front of me while trying not to focus on how Holland’s knee keeps brushing mine under the counter, each touch sending jolts of electricity through my veins.
It’s the oddest sensation.
One I haven’t quite come to grips with.
“Having second thoughts about forcing your way into this?” Holland’s voice is low and teasing, but I catch the underlying tension woven throughout it. She shifts on her stool, her thigh pressing against mine before she catches herself and moves away. “You don’t seem nearly as smug as earlier.”
“Please.” I lean closer, drawn to her warmth. “I can’t wait to meet Mama Tate. I’ve been looking forward to it for days.”
“Is that so?” She arches a brow, and damn if that doesn’t do things to me. “Because you’re gripping that menu like it’s a shield.”
I force my fingers to relax. “Just trying to decide between the heart attack special and the cholesterol bomb. Thoughts?”
Holland shakes her head. “Ah, yes, the famous hockey player appetite. I’m just as impressed by how much you can put away as I am revolted by it.”
“I seem to remember someone joining me for that midnight study break feast last night. There weren’t any complaints when I fried us up a couple eggs and turkey bacon.” The memory of her laughing over the impromptu breakfast, more relaxed than I’d ever seen her, makes my chest tighten. Her guard had dropped, and it had been nice to joke around and learn more about her life.
Her lips curve into a genuine smile. “That was different. Late-night study sessions require sustenance.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Better than calling it the truth, which was avoiding my marketing project.”
The bell above the diner door jingles, and Holland stills beside me. A woman with auburn hair sweeps in like a hurricane in leather, wearing what appears to be a motorcycle jacket two sizes too big, and sporting a smile that’s equal parts mischief and mayhem. I take a closer look and realize there’s a gap in her smile.
Beside her is a burly man, who looks exactly like someone named Jigsaw should look. All beard, bulging biceps, and tattoos inked across every inch of available skin.
“Buckle up, buttercup,” Holland mumbles. “Shit’s about to get real.”
Without thinking, my hand drops to her knee under the table, and I give it a gentle squeeze. She tenses for a moment before relaxing beneath my touch.
“Holland!” Her mom’s voice carries across the diner and people turn to stare. “I missed you, baby girl!”
“Hey, Mom.” Holland’s voice is steady, but her knee presses harder against my palm.
The older woman’s gaze lands on me. The wattage of her smile intensifies as her eyes dance with speculation. “And this must be Bridger! You weren’t kidding, Holland. This man is handsome with a capital H.”
A low groan rumbles up from Holland’s chest as I suppress my laughter before standing to offer my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”
She holds on to me a little longer than necessary as her eyes twinkle. “And he’s polite too? You might want to keep this one.” She sends a wink my way. “Or maybe I will.”
“Mom,” Holland warns, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.
“I’m Vivienne, by the way.”
The man besides her takes the opportunity to step forward and extend a hand that could probably crush concrete. “Jigsaw,” he says simply. His grip is firm but not challenging. It’s undoubtedly the best I could hope for from a guy named after a power tool.
“Bridger,” I reply, matching his tone.
The waitress appears, notepad in hand, and Holland’s mom orders a Bloody Mary without missing a beat. I glance at the girl beside me, who looks like she’s mapping out an escape route through the kitchen.
I’ll admit that I would be quick on her heels.
“So,” her mom starts, resting her chin in her hand. “How long have you two been dating? Holland tells me nothing.” She casts a glance in her daughter’s direction. “She’s so secretive about everything.”
“A couple weeks,” I answer quickly.
“Oh, I don’t know, has it really been that long?” Holland’s tone is honey-sweet but loaded with warning. “We’re still pretty new and taking things slow. Just one day at a time.” She side-eyes me. “Not really sure if it’ll work out in the long run.”
“Now, muffin,” I say, resurrecting my pet name for her, “I told you that we’ll deal with whatever life throws our way.”
Her eyes narrow as Vivienne sighs and leans forward. “I just love a man who’s all in.”
The tension filling my muscles eases as I flash a smile, making a big show of patting Holland’s hand. “When you find the right one, you need to hang on for dear life.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that I’m necessarily the right one,” Holland mutters between clenched teeth.