Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
He glances over, frowning. “I’m not heroic.”
“You say that. But you keep saving me anyway. That’s what heroes do.”
He doesn’t answer, just turns back to finishing the task at hand.
“I appreciate it,” I say. “And I don’t know how to show you that other than subjecting you to my really awful cooking. Maybe if you told me something more about yourself, I could, I don’t know—”
He cuts me off. “I don’t need you to get me anything or return the favor. It’s not about that.”
“What’s it about, then?”
He seems annoyed, exhaling hard through his nose, but I’m still going to press. I have a feeling he rarely gets pressed, but I think it could be good for him.
“Why does it have to be about something? You’re a single mom with a small child, living alone in the country. I’m your closest neighbor. You got your car stuck. You lost power. Your kid almost . . .” He doesn’t finish the sentence. “What kind of man would I be if I watched you struggle and did nothing to help?”
My mind immediately goes to my ex-fiancé and a half dozen scenarios where he feigned incompetence to get out of actually having to help me with something. I’ve always had an independent streak a mile wide, and I never expected him to do everything for me, but too many times I made excuses for him.
Nick was good with Atticus, he helped with half the expenses even though I outearned him by a landslide, and he was funny. I’d focused so much on what I liked about him that I was willfully ignorant to all the reasons he wasn’t the ideal match for me.
“Well maybe one of these days you’ll need me,” I kid. “And I’ll get to rescue you.”
He snickers, peering over his shoulder and tossing me a half smile that lights up his face and takes away all the intimidation that tends to live there when he’s looking all serious.
“Rescue me from what exactly?” he counters.
“I dunno.” I lift a shoulder to my ear, lips cocked. “Maybe from yourself?”
Something flickers across his handsome face—just a flash of something sad or scared, or maybe he’s just tired and I’m making it into something it’s not. He rakes a hand along his beard, appearing lost in thought for a moment. The curiosity that was already simmering inside me roars to life.
“I don’t need to be saved from myself,” he says. “Last I checked, I’m getting along just fine.”
“Okay. Then maybe,” I say gently, “you just need to be needed.”
He doesn’t speak.
Just stands there, staring at the trees like they might have the answers.
“You’re describing a hero complex,” he finally speaks. “I don’t have that.”
“If you say so.” I return to the porch swing and put my book aside, patting the spot next to me. “Come. Sit down. Stay awhile. It’s so quiet out here. I’m still getting used to the lack of . . . people. I could use some company.”
He hesitates, his dirty boots planted firm in the wet grass.
I nod toward the far end of the swing. “Don’t make me beg.”
He shakes his head, lips parting like he’s about to mutter some kind of flimsy excuse, but then to my surprise, he trudges over, climbs the creaky, broken front steps, and lowers himself onto the swing. He’s careful not to crowd me, leaving plenty of space between us.
“Don’t go anywhere.” I get up, disappear inside for a moment, and come back with a bottle of red wine from some local vineyard and two stemless glasses. This time, I sit closer to him. Maybe a good nine inches is all that separates us, but it might as well be a country mile. His walls are up, but I’m determined to take them down even if I have to knock them over with a little help from my friend Cabernet Sauvignon.
“You don’t strike me as a wine guy,” I say, “but it’s all I’ve got.”
He takes the glass I hand him. Doesn’t complain.
I curl my legs against my chest, breathing deeply while Hunter sits rigid against the opposite armrest, the wind stirring the trees and the generator humming low in the background.
“You always drink on your porch with strange men in the dark?” he asks.
“Only the ones who bring me backup power.”
He huffs out something close to a laugh.
I sip my wine. “We’re not really strangers anymore, though. You told me where you grew up and where you went to school. I can see your house from here. I’ve been in your kitchen and in your truck. We ate lunch together. I know how old you are. We went to the same college. I’ve seen you around town. Only thing I don’t know about you is your Social Security number and your mother’s maiden name.”