Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
My concepts turn the bedrooms into bowers, complete with flowered trellises of climbing vines. Others get more technical, but there’s an organic look to it I like.
With a little grunt work, we’ll make the interior of the manor look like it’s sprouting up from the surrounding forest.
Yes, it’s going to take years of hard work.
But as long as my grandfather’s here, I don’t care.
I’ll work with Xavier Arrendell indefinitely if it helps Grandpa hold on to what he cherishes.
Right now, though, if I don’t hurry, I’ll be late for a meeting with the man in question.
I get up, shuffle my papers together, and slide them into a portfolio folder before slipping over to kiss Grandpa’s cheek.
“Heading up to the big house,” I say, while he slows the lathe and smiles at me. “Did you want to see my sketches before I go?”
“Show me when you get back.” His smile brightens. “I trust you, Serena dear.”
Only practice stops me from gasping with distress.
It hits me so hard, every time he calls me by my mother’s name.
He must be in some strange liminal space between past and present, if he’s not asking me why I’m going to the Arrendell manor.
I take a shaky breath, wondering if I should leave him unsupervised. No matter what happens to his mind, he never forgets his skills with his tools.
And in less than half an hour, Mrs. Brodsky will pop by to check on him and bring him his usual lunch.
“Okay.” I force the words past my closing throat. “I’ll do that. Are you okay with the backlog? We’re up to our necks in orders lately.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about me. These old hands love keeping busy.” He smiles so cheerfully his eyes crease into little crescent slits of blue.
Still, I’m hesitant.
But if I don’t go, there’ll be no job and no hope.
My feelings can wait.
I kiss his cheek and smile. “Be back soon. Have fun!”
His only answer is an affectionate nudge, his attention already back on the lathe and the bedpost he’s working on. It was supposed to be my project, but when we discussed the Arrendell job the last time he was lucid, he agreed to take on all of my client work so I could sort out the logistics to prep for the big job.
I know it’s necessary, but guilt still swamps me as I linger, watching him before taking a deep breath, shouldering my bag, and heading out with the portfolio of sketches under my arm.
I can’t help craving distractions as I stroll down the street under the bright noon sun toward the lane leading up the hill.
Too bad my favorite distraction is parked in a patrol car down the street.
His tall, lean frame is slouched in the driver’s seat, his uniform sitting so crisp and trim on his rapier-like frame. There’s one angular cheek propped against his knuckles and a paperback open against the wheel.
He’s on the opposite side of the street. I have to stop myself from crossing traffic to stare at him.
So I make myself look away, pretending not to notice when he’s busy working. But I can’t help watching Micah from the corner of my eye as I head down the sidewalk.
The second I do, I glimpse movement.
His head comes up.
Those silver-blue eyes hit me like a gunshot.
I’m an instant ball of fire.
But I can’t let myself look at him, not directly, not when I’m too embarrassed to admit I’ve been watching him with the weirdest butterflies storming away in the pit of my stomach.
They only intensify when my phone goes off in my bag.
It couldn’t be him.
It wouldn’t be him, not when he doesn’t need anything from me right now.
But when I fish out my phone, there he is on my screen.
Vampire Man.
Even if it feels a little weird calling him that right now when he’s out here in broad daylight and clearly not disintegrating under the sun.
Micah: Person of interest spotted on 4th. Baseball cap, oversized sweater, sneakers, jeans, red ponytail. Pink everything. Very suspicious.
I stop at the corner of 4th and Main, looking back at Micah’s patrol car.
He’s stone-faced, looking down at his phone—until a sly glance slips toward me from under his arched brows.
I smile as I send back, Am I really that suspicious just for liking pink?
Micah: You’re never supposed to trust pretty women in pink. So that makes you trouble, yeah.
My eyes widen.
I don’t know if I want to giggle or hide.
He thinks I’m pretty? He’s not just teasing? I—
No, stop it.
I’m not feeling that pretty today, I counter. I want to be as unpretty as possible. This outfit is defensive.
Micah: Uh-huh. You’ll need more than that to look ugly, Shortcake.
God.
This man is trying to kill me.
My heart beats faster.
I step back, letting a mom with a stroller move past, stepping under the overhang of the bagel shop and leaning against the wall. I watch him as I try to figure out what to say back.