Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
He doesn’t say much himself.
Mostly he asks questions. About Quinn’s favorite color. About school. About whether she likes living in Freedom Falls.
He listens to her the same way he listens to me—carefully, without rushing, without acting like her words are silly just because she’s small.
It does something dangerous to my defenses.
After dinner, he helps carry plates to the sink even though I tell him not to. Then, like he already knows the evening is shifting into bedtime, he steps back.
“I should go.”
Quinn pouts immediately. “Already?”
“Yeah, kid.”
She folds her arms. “That’s dumb.”
I bite back a smile. Tucker crouches again and taps the end of her nose. “Probably.” He straightens and looks at me. The look lasts half a second longer than it should.
“Night, Lucy.”
“Night.”
Then he’s gone. No big moment. No drama.
Just the front door closing behind him while I turn back toward my normal routine.
Bath. Pajamas. Story time. Quinn is still talking about Tucker while I brush her hair.
“Do you think he likes spaghetti?”
“I think he ate two plates, so probably.”
“Do you think his motorcycle has a name? Carly at school says they call their car Eleanor. I don’t know why they would give their car a name, but she says everyone does. Maybe porch man names his motorcycle.”
I blink. “I have no idea.”
“Do you think he was lonely on the porch?”
My hands pause in her hair for just a second. Then I keep brushing. “I don’t know, baby.”
She yawns. I get her into bed, read her a story, and kiss her forehead goodnight. Then I lock up the house, turn off the lights, and climb into bed telling myself I’m only tired.
That’s all this is. Exhaustion. Stress. Nothing else.
Then I dream about him again.
Not exactly the same as the night before, but close enough that when I wake up, my skin is warm and my heart is racing and I bury my face in the pillow with a mortified groan.
“This is ridiculous.”
I sit up, drag my robe on, and shuffle toward the kitchen for coffee.
The house is still. Quinn is asleep.
Morning light spills through the windows soft and gold. For one glorious second, I think maybe today will be normal. Then I carry my coffee to the front window and pull the curtain aside.
And there he is. Again.
Tucker is stretched out on my porch like some kind of stubborn, overprotective guard dog in boots.
This time he’s on his side, one arm tucked beneath his head, that same duffle bag under him like a pillow.
I stare. Sip my coffee. Stare some more. Then I set the mug down and march to the door. When I open it, he’s already waking. One eye cracks open. Then the other. He pushes up onto an elbow and looks entirely too calm for a man caught sleeping on a woman’s porch two mornings in a row.
“What,” I ask, “are you doing?”
“Morning.”
“That is not an answer.”
He sits up fully, stretches his shoulders once, and looks up at me. “Same thing I was doing yesterday.”
“You cannot keep sleeping on my porch.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s for my peace of mind.”
I stare at him. “Your peace of mind.”
“Yeah.”
“You know that sounds insane, right?”
“Probably.”
I cross my arms. “Tucker.”
He gets to his feet, towering over me on the porch but somehow not making it feel threatening. Just solid.
“You can tell me to stop,” he says.
I open my mouth. And then close it again. Because the truth is, I’m not entirely sure I want him to. That realization is hard for me to process. Instead, I step back and grab my coffee from the table by the door. “Come inside before the neighbors have something new to gossip about.”
He follows me in with that faint almost-smile on his mouth.
Breakfast is simpler this time—toast, eggs, coffee for him, and Quinn stumbling out in pajamas a few minutes later with bedhead and a delighted squeal of, “Porch man!”
Tucker laughs under his breath and settles at the kitchen table like he belongs there again. I really need to get a handle on this. After Quinn disappears down the hall to get dressed, I turn back to him.
“You still can’t keep doing this.”
He looks at me over his coffee. “Probably going to anyway.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Been established already, babe.”
I shake my head, but there’s no real heat in it.
He studies me for a moment. Then says, “You and Quinn busy Saturday?”
My stomach tightens. “Why?”
“Freedom Falls spring festival.”
I blink. Stunt. He really had been opening the door for this.
Tucker sets his mug down. “Come with me.” It’s a statement, not a request.
The kitchen goes very still. I lean back against the counter, suddenly aware of every single beat of my heart. “As in what?”
His mouth twitches once. “As Lucy, Quinn, and me going to the festival.”
“That clears up nothing.” I challenge
“You want me to say date?”