Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“My mom did some of the decorating. I didn’t have the heart to stop her.”
I looked around. “Your mom has great taste, and she didn’t make it fussy.” I didn’t know Mrs. Garfield well, but I’d seen her ruffled blouses and pearls. None of that was evident here. It wasn’t overly masculine. No antlers or buffalo plaid. I couldn’t see West searching through antique stores in his free time to pick out the bench where I’d taken off my boots or the hickory coffee table, the black iron lamps in the living room, or the rustic kitchen table, which looked both well-loved and fit the space perfectly. It was clear she both knew her son and had excellent taste.
The kitchen was bigger than I expected, the cabinets creamy white with black iron handles, the countertops granite, the center island topped with butcher block, the cutting board there spread with freshly washed basil and sliced lemons. On the gas stove, a stainless-steel pot held water, and a package of pasta on the counter beside it.
“Did Finn give you the recipe for my favorite dinner?” I asked, the familiar ingredients making my mouth water.
“Kind of,” West said, going to the refrigerator to get out a container of ricotta cheese. “He said your very favorite dinner was steak with asparagus and hollandaise, but I got to the butcher too late. They didn’t have anything that looked good. Finn said this lemon ricotta pasta was your second favorite.”
My heart squeezed at the sweetness of it—that he hadn’t just picked up pizza or wings, which I would have been perfectly happy with, but had taken the time to ask my brother what I’d want for dinner. “Finn give you a hard time?” Knowing Finn, I had to ask.
West shook his head, leaning into the fridge. He pulled out a beer and held it up. One of mine, my favorite IPA.
I took it. “Good taste.”
“My favorite,” he said. “And, you know, it’s Finn, so of course he gave me shit.”
“I think he’s constitutionally incapable of not giving shit if he has the opportunity,” I said after a long pull on my beer. “At least since Savannah and Nicky, he’s graduated from surly to just occasionally obnoxious.”
“Yeah, talk about a good influence,” West said, turning up the heat on the pot of water. “You know, Savannah wouldn’t put up with surly for long. She’d smack him upside the head.”
I laughed. I had no doubt that was true. Savannah didn’t take shit from anybody. When she’d hooked up with Finn, who was brimming with attitude on a good day, I’d figured one of them would end up dead. How wrong I’d been. They’d fallen head over heels in love, and all of Finn’s surliness had melted away, leaving him with a sharp tongue and a wicked sense of humor, but more often smiling than snarling.
I took another long pull of the crisp, hoppy IPA and smiled. “Goddamn, that’s a good beer,” I said.
“You should know,” West said, slicing a shallot almost as well as Finn did. He wasn’t messing around. He actually knew how to cook. Sexy. And helpful since I could brew a hell of a beer, but I wasn’t much good in the kitchen otherwise.
“That’s what I love about being a brewer,” I said. “I love beer. I love stouts and porters. I love a pilsner, but my favorite is a crisp, citrusy IPA. And I get to make all of them exactly the way I like them.”
“Lucky for you, a lot of people share your taste.”
“True,” I agreed, “lucky for me.”
“How’s the new recipe coming along?” he asked, drizzling olive oil in a pan.
I let out a breath and shook my head. “I don’t know. I think it’s close.” I paused, watching as he added garlic and a handful of spinach. My stomach rumbled again, and my mouth watered, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the delicious smells in the kitchen or from watching West.
There was something about his strong, capable hands slicing the basil into thin strips, the bright scent of it filling the room that was so fucking sexy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d watched a man cook. Finn didn’t count. This was a whole different bag than watching my brother in the kitchen. I shifted on my tired feet and took another long sip from my beer, telling my hormones to chill the fuck out. Food first. I was going to be civilized about this, right?
“It was hard,” I said. “Watching everyone fall in love with the fall brew that night at the Orchard. They loved it.”
“They were crazy for it,” he agreed. “Did you have any left at the end of the night?”
I shook my head. “Nah, Dave told me they sold out of all of it. People were asking if they could come by the brewery and pick up a six-pack or a growler, but they drank it all. I held back a few bottles to sample as I work on the recipe, but that’s it.”