Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Two older brothers. Married. Both live in North Carolina.”
“Ah.” I nod like that tells me anything.
“You?”
“None. My mom always said I was enough of a handful on my own.”
“No arguments here.”
I make a face. “You’re so rude.”
“You call it ‘rude,’ I call it ‘honesty.’”
I narrow my eyes. “You know what your problem is?”
“Please,” he says, gesturing magnanimously. “Enlighten me.”
“You think just because you look sexy when you limp and have the bone structure of a Greek god that you can get away with saying anything.”
He looks genuinely confused. “Sexy limp?”
My face flames. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you said.”
Silence drapes over us again, not awkward this time—just quiet and full of unsaid things. The fridge hums. Outside the cottage, the wind whistles, and pine trees bend from the gusts.
Then: “You’re kind of weird,” he tells me.
“Excuse me?” That is not at all what I thought he was going to say.
“I meant it as a compliment.”
A compliment? “How is that a compliment?”
“Don’t be offended—I find you so entertaining, I’ve considered letting you stay.”
Letting? Letting Me Stay? “How many times do I have to remind you, I paid to be here. Quit acting like you’re doing me a favor.”
He shrugs, leaning against the counter like he’s got all night. “I mean, technically I am. I was here first.”
I sigh and lean back against the fridge, watching him in the dim kitchen light. “You’re kind of grumpy, you know that?”
“I’m not grumpy.”
“You are absolutely grumpy.”
He doesn’t argue. Just crosses his arms over his chest and waits.
I tilt my head. “What happened to you?”
That earns me a flicker of something I can’t read. “What do you mean?” he asks.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then, “That’s a personal question for two a.m.”
I shrug. “You woke me up. I think I’ve earned the right to poke a little.”
“You woke me up,” he parrots. “I heard you digging through the fridge.”
How? I was super quiet.
Another pause. Then he says, “I don’t like wasting time on things that don’t matter. That’s not being grumpy; that’s being efficient.” He slurps from his water glass. “I came to recover, not make friends.”
“Clearly.”
“I have friends,” he adds, like it’s important I know this. “Plenty of them.”
I do not doubt that—knowing he is a professional athlete, I can imagine that despite his sour mood, people—women—clamber to surround him.
“Do you scowl this much when you’re hanging out with your buds? Or is that a perk for sharing your cabin?”
He levels me with a look. “I’m here to rehab. Rest. Be alone. Not entertain a parade of small talk.”
I hold my hands up. “Hey, I just wanted a snack.”
Maverick scowls. “And you ate mine.”
Lame. “Are you ever going to let that go?”
His wide shoulders shrug. “Probably not.”
I narrow my eyes. “You really don’t do casual conversation.”
“I don’t see the point in talking for the sake of it.” He shakes his head, rinsing his cup in the sink and setting it aside to dry. “So what do you do? You didn’t actually tell me.”
“Do? What, like, for work?”
“No, for fun,” he deadpans. “Yes, for work.”
Jeez, he’s grumpy in the middle of the night. I blink. “I am a wedding planner, actually. And I plan events.”
“A wedding planner?” He quirks a brow. “Do you plan the whole thing? Dresses, flowers, seating charts?”
I snort. “No, I’m not a magician. I coordinate vendors, manage schedules, deal with venues. Sometimes I mediate cake tastings and bridal party meltdowns. It’s basically babysitting with clipboards.”
He hums like he’s impressed despite himself. “Sounds exhausting.”
“It is.” I sigh dramatically. “But also kind of amazing when it all comes together. Especially if there’s a dog in a tuxedo involved.”
He makes a face like he wants to protest but then nods slowly. “I’d show up for a dog in a tux.”
“Wouldn’t we all?”
Maverick pulls the fridge open and stares into it, the same way I had when I first woke up hungry. “There’s a wedding at the resort this weekend. Bridal party started arriving yesterday.”
Oh? That’s a fun tidbit. I slide onto a stool at the island. “Did you speak to anyone over there, or did you stalk around scowling?”
Maverick snorts, grabbing a yogurt and a spoon. “I nodded at a few of the groomsmen who recognized me.”
“Gracious me,” I murmur. “Did they jizz their pants from joy?”
He ignores me. “One of the groomsmen was bragging about the private chef they hired for the rehearsal dinner. Wagyu sliders, lobster tacos. They’re going all out.”
“Lobster tacos sound incredible.” My stomach agrees. “Maybe if I wander close enough to the lot line, I’ll be mistaken for a cousin and invited to the reception.”
“Anyway,” he continues, spoon halfway to his mouth, “I overheard someone say the bride’s a social media influencer or something. So everything’s being documented. Drones. Photographers. Bridesmaids with ring lights.”
“Ugh,” I groan. “One of those weddings.”