Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“Absolutely,” he said after chewing for a moment. “You missed your calling. You would have been a great chef.”
“I couldn’t take the stress of a kitchen,” I admitted. “I served to get me through college, and the chaos in the kitchen used to make my chest feel tight. For me, cooking is kind of meditative. I wouldn’t be able to do it under pressure.”
“If you are ever in need of a meditation session,” he said, pointing his fork at himself for a second before digging back in.
“I was thinking of making a lasagne tomorrow,” I said. And it wasn’t a complete lie. I had thought about it. For a split second before the words were out of my mouth. “If you want to help make some of it disappear. I mean… even if you just want to take some home with you,” I rushed to add, not wanting to sound too eager, too desperate.
“Lasagne is one of my favorite foods,” he admitted.
“You could bring Boss,” I suggested. “I mean, I don’t know if Matilda is great with other dogs. But it’s worth a try.”
“She was fine passing by them at the shelter,” Wells said. “And Boss is good with all dogs. It’s worth a try. It’s good to expose her to things now while she is learning what life here is going to be like.”
“If you have other things going on…” I started, wanting him to have an out if he wanted one.
“Unless I have a new case going on that is going to suck up my free time, we will be here,” he said.
There was a warm sensation moving through my chest at that, and I tried through the rest of our meal to convince myself that it had to do with safety, with the comfort of knowing he would be around again while I was adjusting to being home again.
I knew, though, as I was leading him toward the door, and there was an aching need in my core at his closeness, that it had absolutely nothing to do with security.
I tried to chalk it up to the fact that I’d been single an almost painfully long time. Since college, really, save for a few casual dates here and there that never went anywhere.
I could blame my work for the dry spell. But the reality was, I kind of overanalyzed dates to death. Knowing what I knew about crime, it was pretty much always the spouse who hurt women, especially when it came to homicide.
So I was always kind of psychoanalyzing people to see if they were the type who might snap one day.
Invariably, I was always worried that there was no way to tell. Because it was always the guy everyone ‘never expected’ who did it.
That same logic, though, should be making me analyze Wells.
A cop.
Because if there was one thing I knew about cops, it was they were the career path most likely to domestically abuse their partners.
I mean, of course, it wasn’t every cop. But even conservative statistics said it was something like thirty-to-forty percent of them.
So… by that logic, Wells was likely the worst of all the guys I’d felt even the slightest bit of interest in to actually want to start something up with.
That said, a man who was helping me after my attack, who was working in his free time to ensure that nothing further would happen to me, was not the kind of man who was going to abuse his partner, right?
“You okay?” Wells asked, making me snap out of my swirling thoughts, and realize we were standing near the doorway.
And because of the way the furniture was set up, and the small space, it meant we were pushed together, our chests practically brushing. I could feel the heat of him through the material of his button-down. There was an almost overwhelming urge to lean into it, to let it warm me too.
“Yeah,” I said, voice coming out more breathless than I’d intended.
“Hey,” he said, reaching out to grab my chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing my face up to his as he ducked his head lower. “You don’t have to stay here if you’re not ready,” he said, misunderstanding the predicament I found myself in.
“I do,” I countered, sucking in a deep breath.
“It doesn’t make you any less brave to take another couple of days,” he reasoned, and his thumb was doing this small little stroking motion over my jaw that had little sparks igniting across my skin.
“I know,” I agreed.
Objectively, I imagined that most women in my shoes would be staying with friends or family for months. If they ever went home at all.
It just… wasn’t an option for me.
Besides, that felt like it would be letting this monster win.
And I was a little too stubborn for that.
“You have my number,” he said, and his finger was teasing just a little lower, the tip of his thumb tracing the edge of my lower lip.