Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
I double-check the address to ensure that I have the correct one and put it into my GPS. Cheerful might be a small town, but there are still a lot of spaces and land I’ve never been to. The mountains all around us have a million trees, and there are cabins tucked away between them. Some belong to locals, while others are people who live here seasonally and rent them out.
I crank up the volume on the holiday music and drive toward the cabin. It’s not far, but the windy roads take time to get through. It ends up taking me longer than I anticipate, and when I make the last turn, I realize there’s a gate. The email Marley sent me has the code, so I pull out my phone and enter it.
The gate swings open, and I pull through. The cabin comes into view soon after, and though it’s dark, there are a few lights on inside. Strangely, the Christmas lights are off.
When I park, I’m relieved to see a truck off to the side of the cabin. Thankfully someone is here, because I didn’t want to leave the cake on the porch. Seeing as they don’t have their Christmas lights on, at first I assumed no one was home.
Carefully I get the cake out and make my way to the front door. I start to balance it on one hand so that I can knock with the other when the door suddenly opens and a large body comes rushing out. They slam right into me and crush the cake box before I can stumble backward.
“What the fuck?” the man bellows. The box falls out of my hands and lands on the wooden porch. “Is everyone in this town stupid?”
The giant man is staring down at the front of his sweater that’s now covered in smashed cake and icing.
I swallow the ball of emotion that tries to rise in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I say, but it comes out in a whisper so soft, I’m not sure he hears.
“Sorry? Fucking hell,” he growls, letting me know he did hear it; he just doesn’t care.
My presence is only pissing him off more, and I take another few steps back. I still haven’t seen the man's face, but he’s easily twice my size. When I try to back up again, my shoe slips off the step, and I lose my balance.
I let out a shriek of fear and surprise as I fall down the steps and land on my ass. I wince when I hit the ground because it’s hard and frozen.
“If you think you’ll get an insurance claim—”
He stops speaking when I lift my head to finally meet his gaze. When our eyes connect, I choke down the words I want to shout back at him. Tears burn in my eyes, but I remind myself that I don't cry. Smile. Be happy and nice and chipper. Never sad or angry.
"I’m really sorry,” I squeak. “This was all my fault." I force a smile onto my face and try to keep my voice chipper. He stares at me, his eyes narrowed, but he doesn't utter a word. That might be a good thing at this point. "The cake was a gift. I'll do a refund and have another sent over. I hope you have a wonderful night."
He steps down off the porch. "Listen, I—"
"I really have to go,” I say as I scramble to my feet. “Again, I’m really sorry." I repeat my apology before turning away from him and hurrying back to my SUV.
He shouts something, but I've already shut my door and started the engine. I take off back down the driveway, grateful the gate is still open.
It's not until I'm back on the main road that I fully process what happened. Also that I have cake and icing smeared all over me and now everywhere inside my SUV. I don't know if I should scream or cry. I want to do both, but I won't let myself. Instead I push it down with my embarrassment. Gah, did he have to be so freaking handsome?
I tell myself it doesn’t matter as I take a deep breath. "Everything is fine. You're great. Wonderful, actually."
I don't know what it was about the man, but his words made a direct hit. They somehow cut deeper than with anyone else, and my own aren't making me feel any better.
It’s clear this Noah guy is making it harder for me to believe my own propaganda.
Chapter Two
NOAH
I’m an asshole. There’s really no other way to put it. But I know I’m an asshole, and that should count for something. Clearly it doesn’t because ever since last night I can’t stop seeing the hurt in those blue eyes as they looked up at me. It’s like they’re haunting me at every turn.