Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
As long as I get to hear his voice telling me he loves and misses me before I go to bed and wake up to emails he sent in the middle of the night my time, detailing things he wanted to share with me while I was sleeping.
Like that he landed another big movie contract for a film set in the Great Depression or tried a sushi restaurant so incredible he’s already made reservations for the next time I visit. Or that he still loves and misses me and is shameless about saying so multiple times a day.
This love of ours is downright cheesy at times, but I cherish knowing my person is out there thinking of me as much as I’m thinking of him.
But I don’t spend all my time daydreaming about my sweet and delicious man.
I’m busier than a pie shop prepping for the holidays.
After quitting my day job as business manager for Sweetie Pies, I had a mild freak-out about how I was going to support myself as an artist. My cards sell well, but not that well—at least not yet—and I do enjoy eating and paying my rent.
So I got busy and sent my portfolio to a hundred of the top restaurants and dessert shops in Brooklyn, offering my services for original menu design as well as window display painting. That’s something I’d only done a handful of times for the pie shop, but I figured it might help me score some extra cash as summer gave way to the holiday season.
I’d hoped to land at least five or six jobs, something to hold me over until I could learn how to advertise my cards more effectively and add designs for T-shirts and aprons to my Etsy shop.
Instead, I booked twenty-seven menu jobs and eight windows—for Halloween, Thanksgiving, and the winter holidays.
Twenty-seven.
Pretty sure that’s the professional equivalent of unicorn sex. Talk about rainbow glitter.
Plus, Abe hired me to draw chalkboard sketches of mushrooms for his in-store menu.
Yes, I am officially a mushroom artist.
That’s courtesy of Gigi—she dragged me back to Forage and Fox one evening, where Abe remembered me. We chatted, and the rest is chalk-drawing history.
Then, a random guy who found my flier on a restaurant owner’s desk approached me about making an album cover for his band. That album cover led to three more album covers, and now, my little paper artist planner will have to be replaced by a more sophisticated booking system.
By the time Jesse comes home for Thanksgiving, I’m making more money than I was while working for my parents, and I’ve learned a lot about myself too.
Like how I thrive in a working environment where I set my own hours and my projects change every day. I’ve learned I’m a night owl who’s perfectly happy to work until two a.m. and sleep until noon before waking to meet Gigi for lunch or a walk around the park before she returns to her starring role as Sweetie Pies’ office manager.
And I’ve learned that I’m still excellent at drawing my boyfriend from memory—no model or photo reference required.
Though a model is always preferable, of course . . .
“Quit moving,” I warn from my desk, my eyes flicking up and down from the naked Jesse sprawled on my couch to the sketchpad in front of me.
“I can’t,” he says. “My cock is sad that you’re so far away.”
“He’s going to be even sadder when I cover him with cold strips of soggy papier-mâché later. We’re doing that this visit, right?” I tease, biting back a grin as Jesse’s eyes narrow.
“I know you’re kidding,” he finally says.
“Do you, though?” I ask, my pencil marking the perfect curve of his ass, adding shadow to the adorable dimple on his left butt cheek. I sigh happily. He really does have the best backside in the entire world.
“What are you thinking, Trouble?” he asks with a laugh.
“About your butt,” I answer honestly. “And how I want to kiss it and bite it and tell it it’s the best butt ever.”
“My butt is open to all of that,” he says in a sexy rumble, with a look that makes my panties go from dry to scandalously damp in seconds.
“Stop,” I warn again.
“Stop what?” he asks innocently.
I snort. “You know what, Mr. F-me Eyes? I think you just took my butt stuff virginity with that look.”
His brows lift. “What? No butt stuff? Ever?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Never sounded like fun.”
“Oh, wow . . . How did I not know this about you before now, Ms. Valentine?” He bites his bottom lip, shooting heavier fuck-me eye action my way before adding in a husky voice, “When you’re ready, I’m going to do things to your sweet ass that will blow your mind, sweetheart. I promise, you’re never going to be the same.”