Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
“I’d like that,” Bronte said sincerely, throwing a challenging glance at William before reaching for her glass.
He put his hand over the top and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Any more of that and you might find yourself married again. Why don’t you let me take you home so we can get to the honeymoon instead?”
“Oh lord,” she breathed. “How is it possible for you to be so irritating and so damn sexy at the same time?”
“It’s a mystery for the ages. Did you bring your car?”
“I walked. Pat’s was so close by and the waterfront is beautiful at night.”
“You walked?” He took a calming breath and lowered his voice. “You should have let me know, Bronte. I could have joined you.”
“I had my pepper spray.”
Pepper spray. And those heels and that dress in a strange city at night. William ground his teeth together in order to hold his tongue.
He helped her into her quilted jacket and took her hand without another word, waving toward the men at the bar before holding the door for her to pass through.
“You had a good time?” He slowed his stride to keep pace with her smaller steps.
“I did. They’re such a fun group. And there are so many of them.” She chuckled. “I used to think the Waynes had that market cornered. Big family, close ties, one of us always in the other’s business. But the Collins might have us beat. I mean, they work together, literally live above the bar, and they love it.”
“Half of them don’t even work there, and it’s only a few of Pat’s grandkids above the bar now. Besides, you lived and worked with Hugo until he married my cousin.”
Bronte shrugged. “Hugo is different. We understand each other. If I actually spent twenty-four seven with the other five? Heads would roll.”
William quirked his lips. “The Collins are a rare bunch. Though you wouldn’t know it from what I’ve seen since I’ve been in the states.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Finns, your family and now this lot? I’m surrounded on all sides by large broods.”
She nudged his arm. “I’m used to my big family. The Finns are the all yours, like it or not.
He wanted them to be. “What I mean is I haven’t seen much of that nuclear family I hear Americans are so fond of. The couple with two kids and a dog, the white picket fence.”
Bronte’s smile was soft. “Sounds nice, but a little old fashioned now. The new normal is that there is no normal. Still, I bet that family never had to fight over the shower or check out three carts full of groceries at one time.”
He laughed. “I only had two siblings and a crazy old man to contend with. I can see now that your parents deserve a medal at the very least.”
She hesitated, biting her lip. “I’d like to hear about that. You said you’d tell me.”
Now?
“Bronte, I’m planning to strip that tease of a dress off and have my way with your willing body, those are the only sins I want you thinking about tonight.”
“William.”
He let out a frustrated breath. “What do you want to know?”
“You said you raised them?”
Her gaze on him was a soothing balm. “Our parents died when I was twelve and our grandfather had a bad leg and a head full of shrapnel from some war or another. Never clear on which one or if he’d made the whole thing up, but the result was the same. He gave us a roof and, as the oldest, I had to get work.”
“At twelve?”
He dipped his chin. “Most shop owners reacted the same way, which meant the only opportunities to be found were under the table. I was fast and hungry, so I became a messenger for a man who wanted to keep his financial transactions confidential. He gave me a chance because he’d known my father.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “In a Dickens novel, I’d be playing the role of the Artful Dodger. At least, until I hit a growth spurt and showed a natural talent for fisticuffs. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Seriously? That’s all you’re giving me?”
His shrugged, not knowing what to tell her. “I can’t change what I did or who I was while I was doing it, can I? But that’s not who I am anymore. Now I’m trying to move forward. To be a better brother than I was. A better man.”
She slid her arm around his waist and he had a hard time concealing how shaken he was by her easy affection and acceptance.
“You get bonus points for the Dickens reference and using the word fisticuffs in a sentence. But I don’t think you need to worry about being a better brother.”
He snorted in blatant disbelief.