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)
That said, I’ve figured out that her family has not looked out for her, including my best friend, which is probably why she ended up married to a man like her ex. I’ve learned that she’s got a soft heart, she’s funny even when she’s not trying to be, and she’s afraid of not earning her place, no matter where that is. I didn’t expect to like her, not when we come from such vastly different backgrounds, but I do. And I honestly don’t know what to do with that.
I told her this evening that life is too short to live on someone else’s timeline, but I’m not sure I could take my advice when it comes to her. She’s still not divorced from the dick she married, and even if I know she’s attracted to me, I’m not sure taking advantage of that would be the right move. Going too fast could blow up in my face, but waiting until I think she might be ready could cause its own set of problems.
My jaw shifts, and my hands ball into fists. I’ve always been one to look at a situation and figure out the right move, but I’m at a loss for what to do when it comes to her.
Knowing I won’t be able to figure that shit out tonight, I push up off the couch, then start to pick her up so I can put her to bed. Her eyes open as her hands move to my chest.
“Noah.”
“Just putting you to bed, babe,” I tell her softly, lifting her off the couch. She makes a sound of protest in the back of her throat before shaking her head.
“I can walk.”
I ignore her and carry her to her room, hitting the light switch with my elbow, which turns on the desk lamp, casting a soft glow around the office. Since she’s been staying here, I haven’t come into her space, but seeing it now causes something to shift inside my chest. Her suitcases are both open on the floor with her clothes neatly packed inside like she’s just waiting to close them up and leave, and the couch looks like she’s never pulled out the bed.
“Have you been sleeping on the couch?” I ask, placing her on the cool leather loveseat. She tips her head back to look at me.
“Yes.”
“Babe, what the fuck?”
“It’s comfortable.” She pulls the blanket she brought with her off the back and lays her head on her pillow, closing her eyes. “You shouldn’t have let me drink so much champagne.”
“I tried to cut you off, but you told me you couldn’t let it go to waste.”
“Oh, yeah,” she murmurs, and I bite back a grin.
“You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“That’s doubtful. Champagne hangovers are the worst.” She tucks the blanket up around her neck, and I shake my head, then go to the closet to grab a thicker one before spreading it over her. “Thank you.”
“We’re gonna have a talk tomorrow.”
“About what?” She peeks one eye open to look at me.
“About you not unpacking.” I lean over and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, watching up close as her nose scrunches. “Get some sleep.” I stand back, then go to the door and cut the light before leaving the room.
It takes me a few minutes to close everything down and get the house locked up, and even longer to fall asleep after I get into bed.
The next morning, standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand, I look toward Bridgett’s bedroom door. When it opens, I smile as she mumbles, “Morning,” before ducking her head and rushing to the bathroom across the room with her arms full.
A couple of seconds later, I hear the shower turn on, so I wait a few minutes before tossing one of the breakfast sandwiches she eats—unless I cook—into the microwave. I then pour her a cup of coffee, adding the vanilla creamer she always uses. Knowing she’s probably hungover, I grab a bottle of Tylenol from the cupboard and place it next to a glass of water on the island, along with her sandwich and coffee before grabbing a set of keys off the hook near the back door and heading outside.
When I get down the steps off the deck, I go to where my four-wheeler is parked under a slanted roof attached to the house and hook up the trailer, then straddle the seat and start the engine. After turning around in the yard, I drive down the overgrown path that leads to the backside of the property and hope like fuck the single-wide trailer I lived in for two years before building my house wasn’t damaged this winter.
When it comes into view, I scan the roof for any branches that might have fallen off the surrounding trees but find none. I park and get off, then head inside. The interior is still in good shape, and I know that even if I have no desire to be a landlord, I could easily rent the space out for a thousand or more dollars a month.