Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 164533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
“Her name’s Ruby. She’s a bit overprotective.”
“That’s her job, right?” I said, casting a quick glance down. “Hello, Ruby.” The man finally had the leash untangled as he let go of my arm.
“Thank you for your help, Miss,” he said.
“Not a problem, I’m Charli. It was nice to meet you.”
“You, too. I’m Bruce.”
“Have a great day, Bruce,” I replied, and he nodded before continuing to his house, his gait slow and measured.
I stood in place, making sure he got there without any further issues, then noticed a “For Sale” sign nailed to the house on the other side of Rhys’. Like Rhys’ place, it appeared to have been recently renovated. The old brickwork had been restored, and it had an adorable pastel blue door with a silver knocker in the shape of a butterfly. Oh gosh, the front of the house was so lovingly maintained, with window ledges painted the same pastel blue of the door, and the butterfly knocker was so cute I knew the sellers could probably wrangle an extra 10k out of someone like me from those features alone.
I briefly wondered how much it cost before pushing away the thought. I had some savings, as well as a decent chunk invested, but buying a house instead of renting felt like too big of a step. I was still finding my feet. And besides, I doubted Rhys would be enthused about me moving in right next door. Just because he enjoyed my company from time to time didn’t mean he wanted me as a neighbour. I also wasn’t sure how I’d feel being his neighbour. I mean, signing for one another’s packages when the other was out was one thing, but what about when he was ready to start dating again and brought a woman home? I had no claim over him, but I didn’t think I’d enjoy witnessing his love life.
Stepping back inside the house, I found Rhys in the living room. “Where were you?” he asked, wiping his hands off on a dish cloth.
“Your neighbour, Bruce, had some trouble with his dog. She was barking at a pair of Corgis across the street, and her leash got tangled around his walking stick. I was just helping him to get it untangled.”
Rhys’ eyebrows jumped. “You met Bruce?”
“Yes, he was a little wary of me at first, but he warmed up when he realised I was your friend and didn’t plan to mug him or steal little Ruby.”
He started to smile. “And you know the dog’s name, too.”
“Well, it would be rude to introduce myself to the man and not his dog.”
He finally released his full smile, and it did something funny to my stomach. Several indecipherable emotions passed over Rhys’ expression as he stared at me. Butterflies batted their wings. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He dragged a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Steph used to complain about Bruce and his dog a lot. She couldn’t stand the barking.”
“Oh, well, I think Ruby only barks because Bruce is elderly, and she’s trying to protect him.”
Again, he gave me that warm, tender expression before motioning me into the kitchen. “You’re probably right. Come on. Food’s ready.”
I followed him back to the kitchen, where the table had been set, and there were two plates, each containing a burger heaped with cheese, onions, pickles, and ketchup.
“It looks so good,” I exclaimed as I slipped my torture chamber shoes back off, wiggling my toes as I sat down. Too hungry to wait for Rhys to join me, I took a big bite then moaned at how good it was. He’d even added the Dijon mustard, which gave it a vinegary, spicy kick.
I was going in for bite number two when I noticed Rhys still hadn’t sat down at the table. Instead, he stood about a foot away, his blue eyes hooded as he watched me. The butterflies returned, stronger than before, as I gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Sorry for the dramatics. I was just so hungry, and this is really good. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
Rhys finally sat, lifting his burger and taking a much less feral bite than I had. “It’s a burger, hardly haute cuisine,” he said, his tone teasing in a friendly sort of way. I arched an eyebrow, and he blew out a breath. “I’ve just always been into food, and I like cooking.” He thumbed behind him to the stack of cookbooks on the shelf near the cooker. “When I was younger, it always cheered Mam up when I cooked something new for her. I’ve been collecting recipes ever since.”
His mentioning his mom had emotion rising forth. Back when we were teens, I’d had no idea how much I would come to relate to her situation. “Well,” I said and cleared my throat. “You were right. You do make a mean cheeseburger. Also, I noticed the house next door is for sale.”