Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I’m leaning over to get the box from the nightstand when a strange noise echoes in the ceiling above us.
Scritch, scritch, scratch, scritch.
“What the devil?” Atlas grabs my hips and cranes his head toward the ceiling.
“Oh. Freaking. No.”
Yes. Oh, freaking yes, it’s happening. We both brace for the worst-case scenario, and it happens. Big time. There’s a rapid patter of tiny feet, then a shower of plaster and a hiss as the cannonball of gray and black striped fur comes hurtling into the room and screeches at both of us.
I quickly scramble off Atlas and climb up onto the bed as he stumbles out of bed and dashes for the bedroom window. As soon as he gets it open, the bundle of fur goes streaking around the room and hurtles right for it. When the furry blur has leaped the window sill and bounded over the roof, Atlas runs back and slams the window shut.
I grab the quilt and wrap it around myself, both at the shock and the blast of cold air that just filled the room.
He stands by the window, blissfully and totally still nude, and we both look up at the ceiling at the same time.
“I’ll get the phone,” he says with a sigh. “We’ll have to call that rescue again.”
“I really should have warned my parents about this, but it’s been so long since it last happened. I thought maybe they’d all cleared out for good.”
“They probably moved in with the cold weather. Do raccoons hibernate?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’re going to find out.”
“Should I call to get the ceiling fixed too? We can leave instructions with the guys and have your parents check in on them. It will be paid for, of course, and completed while we are savoring the new experience of being in a brand new country together. Me, the luckiest man alive, with my bestselling author girlfriend.”
“It’s not really legit,” I protest.
“The author thing? It will be. And it technically is. Granny only had to pull a few strings, and it’s no less than what anyone else does. Never doubt your talent, my love. Never.”
“Oh, well, if it doesn’t work out, I can always get you to train me as a hacker. I mean, your granny learned late in life, didn’t she?”
“Or we could go into homebuilding for real. I think it would be an exciting prospect.”
“Or raccoon rescue.”
“That does have a nice ring to it.”
I laugh and plop down on the bed. “Oh my god, get the phone. I plan on letting you get dressed for when the raccoon people get here, but then I plan on tearing off your clothes all over again once they leave. And Atlas? Can you use your teeth when you take mine off? That was hot.”
“Most assuredly. And can you forgo the panties?”
“Absolutely.”
We both throw on some clothes, and while I sit on the edge of the bed and listen to Atlas talk to the rescue center, I think back to the whole living-the-dream thing. It might not have been the exact life I envisioned for myself, but I’m so, so lucky to be living my slightly unexpected, haunted house—kind of—crime-fighting for real, mystery-solving, though hopefully not too many of those that are real life with the man of my novels—because, of course, my hero is based on Atlas—and dreams. The best part? He’s also my reality. Not everyone gets the trifecta, so I’m very, very lucky.
Raccoons, surprises, rocky starts, fields of wildflowers, crime-fighting grannies, anchovy pizzas, and all.
The End