Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“What?” I ask, playing it cool. “Do you want me to be embarrassed that I saw you in your boxers?”
He shrugs.
“I’m not,” I say, hoping my voice is void of the tremble in my stomach. “I think your romantic, inspirational car repair side was my favorite. It turns out that I prefer you naked and not talking.”
“Maybe that’s our problem.”
“Excuse me?”
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his grin slipping. “Nothing. Never mind.”
I don’t know where to go with this. We aren’t getting anywhere, and I don’t foresee progress. We might have partially defused the situation, but the problem remains.
The thought of disappointing Maggie—and my mother—hurts my heart, but what can I do? This is out of my hands—even if I wanted to stay. And, at the moment, I don’t.
Finally, he sighs and folds his arms over his chest. “You called me a grumpy cat. What kind of a description is that? A grumpy cat?”
“It’s a meme you would know if you had social media.”
Shit. This is why I didn’t want information, Calista!
A shadow falls across his face for a split second.
“But I didn’t say you were a grumpy cat,” I say hurriedly, hoping he doesn’t catch my slipup. “I said you have the personality of one, and, you know, my observation wasn’t wrong.”
He narrows his eyes. “Chris led you into the middle of cornfields, and you called him a damn superhero. And I get a grumpy fucking cat?”
“What does Chris have to do with this?”
He rubs his forehead.
“Again,” I say, emphasizing the word, “I’ll tell Maggie you’ll need to find another nanny. I can’t imagine staying here and arguing with you for a month. We’d kill each other.”
And probably without hate fucking and then makeup sex, to boot. Because that’s my luck.
“Megan …”
For the first time, buried just beneath his steely exterior, there’s a flash of vulnerability. It’s just a flash—a quick blur of emotion—but it’s there.
He covers it as quickly as it appears.
“What?” I ask.
A truck rumbles into the driveway. We turn toward the window to see Maggie making her way to a silver truck.
Chase watches as an older man, whom I recognize as Lonnie, and a young girl with long, dark hair hop out. That must be Kennedy.
“Thank you for helping me last night,” I say, turning my attention back to him. “I appreciate it. To be safe, I’ll get someone to look at the car before I head to the airport.”
“Well, look who we have here,” Lonnie says as he walks through the mudroom door. “Megan Kramer, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”
I smile at the teenager beside Lonnie as he hugs me. The buckles of his overalls are cold against my skin—almost as cool as Kennedy’s reception.
“How are you, Lonnie?” I ask.
“Good. Ready to see my girlie Kate, that’s for damn sure,” he says. “I haven’t hugged my daughter in far too long.”
“I’m sure she’ll be just as happy to see you.” I pivot to Kennedy and smile. I don’t know what to say to her, but I can’t not say anything at all. “You must be Kennedy.”
She eyes me with a heavy dose of typical teenager suspicion. “Are you my babysitter?”
That’s how we’re playing this, huh? “I—”
“Hey, Ken,” Chase says, inserting himself into our little circle. He pulls her against his side. “You’re back early. How was brunch?”
I breathe, relieved to have a moment to get my bearings.
How do I answer that? I’m not her babysitter—but Maggie doesn’t know that yet. Neither does Lonnie.
I gulp. This might get awkward.
“It was brunch,” Kennedy says, keeping an eye on me. “They had baklava this week. I brought you some but left it in Pap’s truck.”
Chase kisses her on the side of the head. “Thanks, kiddo.”
“Is that your car out there?” Kennedy asks me, pulling away from her dad.
I nod.
“You have an Iyala Nails bag in the back,” she says. “The turquoise tote from the spring collection.”
“The turquoise was much prettier than the pink, despite popular demand. I have the pink one, but I never use it.”
Her eyes widen. She has her dad’s green eyes. “You have the pink one? That was impossible to get. The turquoise one was too, but no one could get the pink one because it came with the summer manicure set and the Relatively Rare red polish.”
My smile is wide. “You know a lot about Iyala polishes.”
“Yeah. Well, not just the Iyala ones. I love all nail stuff. But the Iyala special collections are always the best.”
“I’ve always been partial to the winter collections. They’re always a bit more magical. Don’t get me wrong, the summer ones are great. But the winter ones …”
“The winter ones are always different. Not just red or pink or orange. They come up with some cool colors for the winter collections. They’re kind of funky.”