Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
And if it wasn’t for the gaping chasm left by Ethan missing, I’d smile.
The drive to Grant’s cottage is short enough. I mean, technically every drive through Redhaven is pretty short.
I curl up silently in the passenger seat, basking in the warmth coming from the heating vents. Grant stays silent and brooding.
I try not to let him catch those little glances I throw him from the corner of my eye, desperate to read his mind.
What’s he thinking now?
Does he sense the same tension in the air?
He’s certainly turning over something in that big head of his. His brows always stitch together a stark line when he’s deep in thought like gathering thunderheads.
And now that he’s sporting this full, thick beard, it just adds another layer when his beard twitches, grinding his jaw like he can chew on those ideas until he gets to the truth.
I’m sneaky as I glance at him, but I get the feeling he knows I’m watching.
Do you know how long I’ve been watching you, though?
Do you know how much I wanted to know you before everything turned so crappy?
Sigh.
I’m not supposed to do this again.
I know I’m not.
I’m not supposed to be having warm, fuzzy feelings for Grant like I’m a kid with a crush all over again. Especially not after he’s knocked around my heart like a tiger with a ping-pong ball.
But he’s always been the compass, hasn’t he?
The lodestone that draws me back.
No matter how much older and wiser and more immune to impulsive emotions I’d like to think I am, I’m still helpless to resist his magnetism.
When I was young and stupid, I used to think we were made for each other.
That I was the only one who could understand him because I was the only one besides Ethan who ever really tried.
Then I grew up and found out that broody men like Grant don’t want to be understood.
They’re content to be these enigmas put on the Earth to drive women like me insane.
Honestly, they’re a little like self-absorbed children who don’t quite realize relationships are a two-way street—even friendships—and it’s not all about finding people who are just sidekicks along for the ride with a moody, intense, mute main character.
Yeah.
In case it wasn’t obvious, my post-Redhaven love life hasn’t been stellar. When I think about the men I’ve dated ever since I left, my stomach twists with a truth I hate.
I’ve always been trying to find another Grant.
Someone who’s snarly and blunt and kind of a dick.
But actions speak louder than words.
Grant’s actions have always hinted that under his grouchy surface there’s a kind, thoughtful man who puts others first.
Not a completely selfish asshole with a hard-on for his own dark, tormented image.
Why else would he be dragging me off to his house and asking me to help with Nell when he’s made it clear he just wants to look after me?
Poor guy.
He thought I couldn’t say no to helping with the kiddo and he’s totally right.
Even if it wounds my pride a bit to be lured in so obviously, I can’t deny it.
I think this could be good for me, though.
I’ve been looking for a happy distraction from Mom, from Ros, from Redhaven and its sinister crap.
Plus, little Nell is a perfectly adorable diversion to help keep me from fixating on a thousand heart-wrenching worries over Mom.
She’s also waiting for us when Grant pulls into the driveway of his cottage. His parents are there, too, their car parked by the curb while they take turns pushing Nell in the wood-and-rope swing hanging from the large oak tree that casts its shade over Grant’s neatly tended front yard.
The grass looks like it’s a quarter inch longer than the Redhaven HOA allows and it makes me smile.
Knowing him, he probably left it like that on purpose to spite the Mrs. Appleberrys around town. I even catch a glimpse of clover and late season blooms that must’ve been nice for the bees and other bugs back in the summer.
As we get out of his patrol car and I grab my things, his parents glance up with grateful smiles.
It’s odd to see them aged ten years when it feels like it’s just overnight.
Until this moment, I imagined them with a few less wrinkles.
Margaret Faircross’ hair not quite so silvery and Jensen Faircross’ back straighter and less stooped than it is now. He’s still a big man despite advancing age taking the edge off his muscle mass.
Grant raises a hand to his parents.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “Had a dispatch call. Intruder at Ophelia’s house.”
Mrs. Faircross’ gaze flicks to me, eyes rounding with concern. “Oh, Ophelia—are you all right?”
Next thing I know, she’s coming at me full steam.
I don’t even get a chance to grab my bag from the car before Mrs. Faircross has me wrapped up in the warmest hug.