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)
When the fire catches, throwing dancing orange light around the walls, I ease back on the rug, forcing a slow, steady breath out of my chest.
In.
Out.
Annabelle glances over, reading me in that freakishly perceptive way of hers. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah.” I nod, pride tasting a bit like ash on my tongue. “Better.”
She settles in next to me, tucking her legs under herself, shoulder brushing mine. “What a relief. ’Cause if the serial killer breaks in, I’m going to need you at full strength. I can’t save us both.”
As if I would let her defend us from a killer. But cute that she thinks I’m such a mess she would need to.
We take seats on the couch, Annabelle curling up, and the soft glow from the candles she found glows in the room along with the fireplace. They flicker, casting shadows onto the wood walls.
Cozy as fuck.
She tucks her hand under her chin, leaning against the back of the couch to study my face. “Tell me something—a confession. Since we’re trapped inside, we might as well spill secrets before the murderer gets us.”
I huff out a laugh, relaxing into the worn cushions. “You want a confession? Hmm.”
She nods, eyes bright, playful but somehow gentle at the same time.
“Well, you already know I hate storms—always have, for no particular reason,” I admit. “But I’m also not a fan of the dark.” Don’t love it. “Your turn.” I nudge her knee with my foot.
She grins, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Funny you should mention the dark. I used to sleep with a night-light until I was twelve, which is probably why I couldn’t sleep last night.”
Ha. “So we’re in agreement—we should leave all the lights on.”
“Except the power kind of screwed us on that.”
True, at least for the time being.
“So,” she says, twisting to face me a little more, “since we’re trading secrets—what about relationships? You ever been close to getting married?”
The question surprises me, but she says it so casually I get the feeling she’s not fishing for personal reasons. At least, I don’t think so.
“Nah,” I answer honestly. “Football has always been in the way.” No time, not enough inclination. Never dated anyone I wanted to lock in and commit to for the rest of my life.
She nods, like she gets it. “Makes sense. Hard to build on something serious when you’re always on the move or busy doing”—she waves a hand airily—“athletic stuff.”
I laugh at her description of my job, shifting on the couch, stretching my arm along the back, letting my hand dangle dangerously close to her shoulder. “What about you?”
She bites her lip, looking sheepish. “I’ll tell you, but you can’t laugh.”
“I won’t,” I promise. “I mean—I’ll try.” No promises.
She draws in a breath. “The guy I was seeing is the mayor’s son.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “The mayor’s son?”
“Yes.” She groans, hiding her face in her hands. “Tim is the mayor’s son.”
I have a shit-eating grin on my face. “Like, the mayor?”
She peeks through her fingers, glaring at me. “Yes, stop repeating it!”
“You’re the one repeating it!”
“I can’t help it!” She laughs. “He and I were never going to last, though I doubt he would have dumped me. Dating in a small town is rough. It’s slim pickings when you know everyone’s entire life story or went to elementary school with them.”
“Fair,” I say, grinning. “So you went for the mayor’s kid to shake things up.”
She snorts. “Trust me, there was no shaking. He’s the world’s safest bet, and I wish him all the best—just not with me.”
I laugh again, the sound echoing along with the crackle of the fire. The storm rages on, but it has begun to feel oddly peaceful here with her, swapping stories in the flickering candlelight. Dare I say romantic?
Nah. Not that.
Not us, we’re enemies, battling over the same cabin . . .
I clear my throat, glancing at her as another gust of wind rattles the windowpanes. “So what do you actually want? Long term, I mean.”
“Long term? Hmm.”
I shrug, and when I do, the tips of my fingers brush against her shoulder. “Outside of work—or Tim, the mayor’s boring son—what do you want? Five years from now or whatever.”
“The only one who ever asks me that is Lucy.” She hums again. “I don’t know. I’d love to travel more; sometimes it feels like I’m stuck here. Have you ever seen that movie Groundhog Day, where the guy wakes up every single morning and it repeats day after day?”
“Uh, no.”
“Well, that’s how I feel sometimes. Day after day is the same. Tourists. Brides. Same coffee, same café. Town is the size of a postage stamp, and I never leave—which is why I came here, though I only drove from one side of the lake to the other.” Annabelle lets out a breath. “I don’t know what I want. Freedom? Not to feel suffocated.” She looks at me, eyes warm. “What about you? What do you want?”