Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
“I heard you’ve been working for your father.”
“I have.” I keep my answer short, hoping she’ll get that I have no desire to pretend we’re friends or think that she actually cares about what I’ve been doing.
“Are you going to continue doing that when you and Conner move to London?”
“Pardon?”
“Conner mentioned that you two are moving to London since he got a promotion at the firm and they’re sending him overseas.”
“Conner and I aren’t together.”
“What?” Her eyes widen, and I frown, not sure her surprise is genuine.
“He and I are no longer together.” I quickly glance at May, finding her with her lips pressed together in a tight line. “I moved out weeks ago. We’re getting divorced.”
“Oh.” Molly takes a step back and looks between May and me. “I had no idea. Conner told Brayden you’ve been staying at your parents’ to help with your dad.”
“I’m actually living in my brother’s old place,” I say, then thank my lucky stars when I spot our waiter headed our way with our cheese board.
“Sorry.” He squeezes past Molly so he can place the wooden dish on the table between May and me. “Get my attention if you need anything else.” He smiles at us.
“We will.” I smile back, then look at Molly, who’s stepped closer to Vanessa and Catharine. “We’ll catch up soon,” I lie, having no desire to talk to her or anyone else from my old life ever again.
“Yeah, sure.” She nods, and I turn back to May, who keeps her attention across the room for a long moment before focusing on me.
“So, Conner hasn’t told his friends that you two are getting divorced.” She drops her gaze to the food between us as she grabs a piece of cheese and a few grapes.
“It would seem so.” I sigh, picking up my glass to take a sip, needing the alcohol more now than I did before.
“I don’t like that.” Her concern-filled eyes lock on mine.
“Me neither.” I rub my lips together, hoping like heck he will get it through his head that he and I are done and that there is no fricking way I am getting back with him.
Not even if doing so was the only way to guarantee the survival of the human race.
CHAPTER 7
COOKIES
Bridgett
Parked outside the police station in the middle of town, I stare at the double doors while trying to convince myself to get out of the car. Last night, after drinks with May, I went home, showered, and got into bed. But after two hours of tossing and turning, I got up and went to the kitchen. The task of mixing up a new batch of cookie dough and then baking them was just what I needed to relax. By the time I had a couple dozen soft, golden cookies that looked magazine perfect, I was ready to sleep.
But now, with those cookies in a container on the seat next to me, I wonder why I didn’t think about the fact that I would actually have to see Noah to give them to him.
“Maybe he’s not even here,” I mumble under my breath—hoping I’m right—before grabbing the plastic container, then forcing my hand to grasp the door handle and push it open. Once I’m out of my car, my knees feel weak, and my stomach churns as I walk across the sidewalk and up the steps to the precinct doors. Having never been to a police station before, I stand there for a second, not sure if I should knock or just go in. The option is taken away from me when a good-looking officer dressed in uniform opens the door.
“Hey, do you need some help?” he asks, his eyes roaming over me. I don’t miss the fact that his attention lingers on my ring finger.
“I’m just dropping these off for Noah.” I hold up the container, and his gaze moves to it before it meets mine once more.
“He’s not here yet.”
Hallelujah.
“Oh.” I attempt to look disappointed. “Do you think I can leave these?”
“Sure, I’ll put them on his desk if you want.” He reaches out to take them, then holds up the clear container to look inside. “Did you make these?”
“I did.”
“What’s a guy gotta do to get homemade cookies?” he asks, and I can’t help but smile.
“Take me to buy a car after working all night.”
“Sheww.” He whistles. “For a girl as pretty as you, I might do that.”
“Benton, aren’t you supposed to be heading out on patrol?” a deep voice barks, and my stomach bottoms out as I turn to find Noah walking up the sidewalk. He’s wearing a baseball cap and dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a burnt-orange thermal that fits him like a second skin, with a duffle bag that looks about as big as me over his shoulder.