Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
And like her, he didn’t know what to do about it.
~ Three ~
“Lu—-Lieverd?”
Four hours into their flight and neither of them were sleeping, with Ayah cuddled against his side once more, her head nestled on his chest, legs tucked under her. At the sound of her voice, Nic promptly closed his eyes.
She straightened, and when she saw his peacefully sleeping face, she giggled.
A giggle, Nic thought. When was the last time he heard a woman giggle – without faking it? He truthfully could not remember.
“I know you’re pretending to be asleep.”
He answered with a smile, eyes still closed, making her smile, too. “Come on, please – I just need to ask you a question.”
With an exaggerated sigh that had her giggling again, he opened his eyes and asked her, “What is it?” His tone was exasperated, but it was purely for show. In truth, Nic was keen to hear her next question. In the few hours they had known each other, Nic had become certain of one thing: Ayah Chandler liked asking the oddest questions—-
“Can I take a photo of our hands?”
Nic tried to disguise his laugh by coughing. And there, he thought in amusement, was another example that his theory was true. When he was sufficiently in control of himself once more, he asked, “Have I heard you correctly? You want to take a picture of our hands?”
She answered him with a beam and a nod.
“I suppose so.” He had barely finished replying when she quickly leaned back on the chair, clasped her fingers with his, and lifted both their hands in the air. And then she started taking photos with her iPhone. When she had taken about twenty and showed no signs of stopping, he asked with genuine puzzlement, “What is this for?”
“Souvenir.”
“Our hands?”
She nodded, her attention still on taking photos. “It’s kind of my thing. It looks very cute, you know, with your hand so much bigger than mine.”
It was only after she took another twenty that she appeared satisfied, thanking him with another beaming smile as she let go of his hand. He gazed at her, not knowing what to think.
Sensing his regard, she turned to him with another smile, showing him her phone. “I’m going to post it on IG. But first, I need to choose the right filter. I don’t use the standard filters, though. I have another app for photo editing. You can even add frames and then provide a different filter for each framed shot...you can add text, too...”
She kept chatting, explaining the process step by step. He should be bored, but he was not. Everything she said or did fascinated him – she could talk to him about everything under the sun and Nic had an uneasy feeling that he would still be entertained. He just could not get enough of the way she did not seem to hold anything back.
The editing part took her about half an hour. By the time she was done, he was even more fascinated – and she was sleepy. Laughing softly as she struggled to keep her head up, he dismissed her protests and pulled her towards him.
“Sleep,” he commanded.
“But I want to post it—-”
“Later. You’re obviously tired.”
She tried to protest but ended up yawning instead. He raised an arrogant brow at that, an ‘I told you’ expression on his face, and she grimaced.
“Sleep.”
“So bossy,” she retorted, but it was completely ruined by another yawn she couldn’t control. With a sigh, she snuggled closer to him.
He wished he could place her on his lap but knew it would be too much, even for someone like him.
“Tell me a story.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do I look like a storyteller to you?”
“Please.”
“No.”
“But I can’t sleep without a story.”
“Are you seriously asking me to tell you a story?”
“I’m seriously asking you to tell me a story.” And she promptly ruined that by giggling. She couldn’t help it, with Luuk sounding so aghast. Rubbing her eyes sleepily, she pleaded, “Just one, please? I have a hard time falling asleep when flying.”
Letting out a frustrated sigh, he said, “What the hell do I know about bedtime stories?”
“It doesn’t have to be a bedtime story like a fairytale,” she answered quickly. “It can be, like, anything...like...why are you flying to Amsterdam?”
“It is where I live.” He should not have said that, but he had.
“Oh.” She waited for him to ask why she was flying to his city. When moments passed and he did not, she laughed, knowing that it was typical arrogance that had him refraining from asking any questions. She told him, “I’m on my way to Paris.”
“I know,” he said dryly right away. “You let me read your travel itinerary, remember?”
“Oh.” She made a face even with her eyes closed. “I forgot about that.”
He chuckled. “You are sleepy. Admit it and go to sleep.”