Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“No. She just took off when I was ten.” She waves a dismissive hand. “I don’t know why I brought that up. I guess flowers sometimes make me think of her, since Dad tried to romance her every week with them. They’re nice though.”
And I am not cutting flowers for her now.
I look to the swaths of yellow flowers, swaying gently, spreading a vanilla scent across the breeze. “I’ll leave them here then,” I say, grateful that Siri’s haphazard answers saved my ass.
Briar lifts her nose to the air, inhaling. “I love fresh flowers though. I’ve always loved to do yoga outside, but especially here, because it smells so good. This place felt a little bit like an escape when I arrived.”
It can’t possibly be an escape now. Maybe the last thing she wants is one man coming on to her, let alone two. “It’s probably the opposite now with us crashing into the cottage?”
There. I’m fishing for intel without being obvious.
“I don’t mind.”
“Hmm. You sure? It can’t have been on your bingo card to share a tiny cottage with three obnoxious hockey players who argue constantly, trash talk incessantly, and eat all the time.”
“You’re not obnoxious. Trust me,” she says.
“We could try to be obnoxious,” I tease.
“Is that a threat? Will you attempt to be rude to scare me away?” she challenges, but she seems unperturbed. No, that ferocity in her eyes, the raise of her chin—she seems fearless. Tough.
“I can try. If you really want me to,” I say. “But it’ll be hard because I’m naturally charming.”
She smiles, relaxed, easy. “You sure are, Rhys Corbyn.” She holds my gaze for a beat longer than I’d expected. “And you’re right. It definitely wasn’t on my bingo card. But I don’t think I’m going to mind it at all.”
Okay, that’s intel too. She likes our company possibly. As I consider that, she gives me another important look. One that says there’s something on her mind. Like her brain is turning over possibilities.
No idea what though, so I return to the earlier topic. Seems rude not to acknowledge what she’s shared. “Sorry about your mom leaving. That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t, but it was a long time ago. And hey, I’m a daddy’s girl. He owns a garage, so I know how to change a tire and fix an engine.”
I whistle. “That’s right fucking hot.”
“Wait till you see what I can do with a screwdriver.” Then she tips her forehead toward the cottage. “I should go. I left Gavin in the kitchen.”
I want to tell her he’s Mister Independent. He’d make the whole meal himself, then serve us all, making sure everyone had gotten enough. But it’s nice that he’s letting someone help him cook.
“See you at the table,” I say.
“See you inside,” she says, and her blue eyes twinkle as they roam up and down my body, like she’s assessing me.
What the hell is on that beautiful mind of hers?
Flowers might not be the way to her heart, but dammit, I’m going to figure out what is.
A minute later, I head back inside with the scissors, putting them away in the kitchen drawer as Briar helps Gavin slice veggies.
When he sets the knife down as she heads to the sink to wash kale, he lets his gaze linger on her too.
For a good, long time.
23
TIME TO WINE DOWN
Briar
I have two things on my mind tonight. First, the absolutely tempting offer that Hollis has made me along with the gift that I’m, admittedly, dying to use. The note put me in a giddy mood and has been playing on a loop since I found it when I returned home this afternoon.
If you want to teach me what you like, I’d like to learn. I am an excellent student. –H
I’m also totally fixated on the ten-thousand-dollar cash prize from Steven’s contest and what I could do with it. I already have plans.
But those tempting twin thoughts have oddly taken a backseat to Gavin’s absolute prowess in the kitchen.
I don’t know why it’s such a surprise. He did say he could cook. But I wasn’t expecting him to cook with so much skill and ease. Gavin moves fluidly through the kitchen, slicing carrots, seasoning squash, and boiling quinoa all while I operate as his sous chef.
I’ve been happily following his orders as he’s peppered me with questions about my day.
Did I catch any of the bands?
How did my class go?
What’s the hardest pose to do?
My answers? I’ve added some bands to my playlists. Excellent. And Shavasana.
Of course, the last one is telling—Shavasana is the relaxing pose and, well, I suck at relaxing. But that’s a matter for later.
For now, Gavin gestures to the oven as the timer beeps. “Grab the squash, ’kay?” he asks as he hands me a red pot holder with an illustration of a wine bottle on it along with the words Time to Wine Down.