Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“All cosmetic.”
“You’ve seen the proposed design. It’s nice. It might even bring this side of Main Street back to life.”
“Yeah, fine, it is,” I admit. The Tribune finally reported a positive piece on the Revive Project, with concept pictures. Shirley was furious, declaring Colin dead to her and refusing to so much as glance at the article. “But I can’t just let it go.”
“Why not?”
“Because … because … then what?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Then you hook up with the rich, hot property developer who’s totally into you?”
“I mean, what do I tell Shirley and Vicki? I can’t be out there petitioning and plotting with them one day, only to wave the white flag the next. Especially now that we know it’s not over yet. They need me.” I pause, a thought striking. “Unless it’s a feigned retreat.” I’ve been sitting on the news I learned from Penelope for days—unsure of how to approach Garrett the next time I see him, whether I want to play clueless or confront him. But a third option is forming in my mind: toying with him, letting him think what happened between us in New York is bleeding into Polson Falls, that we can separate business from pleasure, and then, wham!
He finds out he’s being played.
That’s not a bad plan either.
“The fact that you’re referencing war tactics is slightly alarming. And all for that.” She throws her hand toward the windshield as we approach the brick building, dim except for the CornerMart and the dull glow of lights from two apartments above.
Including the one above the butcher shop.
Garrett’s here.
My pulse races as my adrenaline kicks in.
I make a last-minute hard left, cranking my steering wheel toward the laneway between Todd’s and Ned’s buildings. The back end of my car slides on the slick pavement. Scarlet squeals as we regain traction seconds before plowing into a snowbank. “Are you crazy?”
“I just need to make a quick pit stop.” I park beside Garrett’s SUV, leaving the car running. “Be back in two minutes.”
“Where are you—”
Scarlet’s question cuts off when I slam the door shut and rush to the stairs. They’re wooden and slippery, and I nearly wipe out as I scramble up them.
With a deep inhale, I knock and hold my breath.
Heavy footfalls sound on the other side, and a second later, Garrett fills the doorway. “Justine.” He pushes a hand through his mane, sending it into sexy disarray. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Most people aren’t,” I croak, my tongue suddenly parched. He looks casual tonight, in a plain white T-shirt that frames his collarbone and neck and gray track pants that hang low on his hips, highlighting the asset hiding beneath.
That closet fiasco may have been the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
I edge into the apartment without an invitation. My shoulder brushes against his torso on the way past, sending an electric current through my limbs.
Dean and Shane weren’t exaggerating about the sad state of these apartments. The original golden wood flooring is worn down to unfinished, gray in spots, several kitchen cupboard doors hang off only one hinge, and the light fixtures are all naked bulbs. The cheap white fridge I sold him looks out of place simply for the fact that it’s new and clean.
“Love what you’ve done with the place.” I kick off my winter boots, shed my coat, and stroll to the living room on the other side, as if welcomed in. It’s a large space and marginally better on this side, a plush charcoal futon and a live edge coffee table in the center of an otherwise barren room. In the far corner, a small flat-screen sits on a stand, playing tonight’s NHL game. From here, I have a clear view into the bedroom. It’s empty, save for the few shirts and pants that hang in the closet and a leather duffel bag on the floor.
Everything is temporary and portable.
“It does the trick when I’m too tired to drive home.”
“Which Stavro brother lived here, do you think?” I eye the window ahead. Was this the unit that inspired the Pulitzer Prize winner’s drunken prose?
“No idea. Never gave it any thought.”
Loose papers are scattered across the coffee table, and a bottle of beer sits next to his laptop. “Burning the midnight oil?”
He checks his watch. “It’s only seven, but I’m sure I will be.” He slides past me and slaps his laptop shut.
“Hiding something?” Like an application for a variance approval?
“I have nothing to hide.”
Liar. I watch him collect and shut file folders, his T-shirt clinging to the web of muscle across his back.
“Are we clocked in or out tonight? ’Cause I have to admit, I’m having a hard time keeping up with Justine and Ralph.”
“Let’s call it a dinner break.”
“In that case, there’s a cold beer in the fridge if you want.”
“I have somewhere I need to be. But thanks.” Now that I’m standing in the same room as Garrett, I could take pleasure in finding ways to poke at him all night, but Scarlet will kill me if I leave her in an idling car for too long.