Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
The faintest blush touches my cheeks as I reach for my boxers and slip them on.
Gotta give my woman that.
She knows exactly how to make a guy feel like he owns the world rather than owes it.
I swear to those in the great beyond that I have never stood taller or felt so bloody attractive in my entire fucking life.
Compliments are both verbally given and physically shown from her on a regular basis.
I’ve never had that.
I love it.
I’m fairly certain that I also love her but again…
Two weeks in seems a wee bit early for admitting it.
Harper’s sweet, hopeful tone almost hurts my heart. “Breakfast? Fried eggs and tea? God, how do you even make tea taste so damn good.”
“It’s a skill.”
“You have like all of the cooking skills. You’re amazing in the kitchen.”
See.
Flattery.
Always coming.
Almost like her.
“Do you have any idea how much I love starting my mornings off being told how incredible I am?”
“Did I say you were incredible or your cooking?”
The teasing receives a small snicker on a shake of the head. “Now, you know I love making breakfast almost as much as you love eating it-”
“Not loving the moo cow way that shit makes me sound.”
“However, I have to go in early today, remember?” My reminder occurs during my cross to her en suite bathroom. “Training then two hours to get home, showered, and start my shift. It’s the reason why I can’t tag along to the cinema with you and Nat nor finally bloody meet her.” The arrival inside is followed by my gaze locking on hers. “Offer still stands, álainn.”
Harper girlishly giggles at being called beautiful in Irish.
“I can put you two down for a reservation and get to know her while serving you two dinner.”
“No,” she swiftly denies so fast it stumbles me backward. “Absolutely not happening.”
“Why not?” An uncomfortable emotion I’m not well acquainted with wiggles itself along the back of my throat. “Embarrassed?”
Her head tilts in an irritated fashion on an even more irked glare. “You know that I’m not.”
Do I know that?
Only because she says it.
And I am the one who was taught that you believe someone, that you trust them, until they give you reason otherwise.
She hasn’t, yet it’s hard to ignore the niggling in my mind that she’s ashamed I’m not some stockbroker or car salesman. Pretty much anything with a pension or possibility for one.
Probably doesn’t help she’s still friends with her ex who is in the aforementioned categories.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
No soportó como están arriba de uno.
Hate that too friendly shite.
Loathe that they’re still bloody “besties”.
She should be having coffee breaks with me and texting me with her random thoughts about Tiny Home living.
Not.
Him.
Jealousy is also a new feeling I can’t say I give a fuck for.
“Babe, I want you to meet my best friend in a neutral social setting for all of us,” Harper sweetly declares. “Like a normal couple.”
I surrender my hands in a conceding nature and reach for my toothbrush.
Things like having my own toothbrush and drawer to keep my clothes in does dull that troublesome voice just a bit.
So does being the background photo on her phone.
Unfortunately, I had to push for her to change all her social media shite over to couple status or photos of us, and that minor reluctance on her part had the inner demon getting loud again.
She doesn’t understand why it matters so much.
I don’t understand how she doesn’t see why it matters so much.
It tells everyone around her to either piss off because she’s taken, or it tells those that are important enough to be in her life how important I am to her.
So yes.
It very much fucking matters.
“What’s this training on exactly?” Harper asks from the other room.
“Alcohol.”
“Like to renew your ability to serve it?”
“No, like renewing my ability to interact with it as a bartender.” The lack of response leads me to adding, “I’ve gotta take a refresher course. It’ll cover the basics like spotting fake-ids, dealing with disgruntled customers, and knowing when to cut off a patron, which all operate a little different when directly behind the bar, but it’ll also provide in-depth re-covering of wine pouring techniques, performance enhancers – like the typical bottle toss – and of course the Guinness trick, although that I mastered in my free time.”
She makes an attempt to grin rather than grimace.
Harper’s not really a beer woman to begin with, so convincing her to try my stout last week at brunch was a laborious task, one that ended in me footing the bill two dates in a row for laughing too hard at her expense.
I’m not sure I should’ve been punished for her adorable, disgusted face.
Rinsing my toothbrush and squeezing a bit of paste onto it is done as she investigates further. “And why do you need this refresher course? You don’t even bartend.”