Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
He shot me an amused glance before motioning for me to follow him out of the room. “Oh. I guess he’s… the butler-slash-cook? I’m not sure how else to describe him. He’s a part of the furniture, really.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Huh.”
“Huh? What’s huh?” His words were punctuated by the creaking of the kitchen door as he pushed it open.
“I don’t know. I guess when you say things like that and I’m in your big fancy house, it reminds me that you really are a fully-fledged, blue-blooded member of the aristocracy. I forget that when you’re arguing with me like a twelve-year-old.”
“In the interest of being that fully-fledged, blue-blooded member of the aristocracy, I won’t argue with you right now.”
“That’s just because you’re hungry.”
“Stop telling everyone my secrets.”
“There’s nobody here but us,” I pointed out.
Thomas pointed towards a round device by the sink. “Alexa is listening. I don’t need her knowing my secrets.”
“Well, in that case…”
“Stop it.”
With a soft laugh, I cast my gaze around the kitchen.
It was surprisingly normal sized for a property of this size.
What was I expecting? A giant commercial one?
Yes. Yes, I was.
Both the upper and lower cabinets were cream, and the countertops were a gorgeous oak wood that made the room feel bright, even though it was horrifically dark outside. Light green tiles covered the walls between the two sets of counters, and I hovered awkwardly at the island as Thomas wandered over to a pot in the corner.
“There’s some fresh bread in the breadbin over there. Would you mind grabbing it?”
Homemade soup?
Fresh bread?
Sod going home. I was moving in.
I retrieved the bread from the breadbin and took it over to the island, then paused as I caught sight of a fully decorated tree that had to be at least nine feet tall. “That’s a very fancy Christmas tree for the kitchen.”
Thomas turned his head towards the tree and let out a big huff. “Please direct all complaints to my mother.”
“I didn’t say I was complaining.”
“That’s right; I forgot you’re endlessly fascinated with Christmas lights, and Lord knows that tree has enough of them.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
“What is?”
“The ‘endlessly fascinated’ part. I’m far more interested in things like, I don’t know.” I paused. “Cheese.”
“Huh.” He put the lid back on the slow cooker. “I did once see a snippet of old advice that said you may fascinate a woman by giving her a piece of cheese. It was something from the nineteenth century, I believe.”
“Unbelievable.”
“What is?”
“The fact that that advice is two hundred years old and men still think women are complicated.” I made a show of rolling my eyes. “That’s just proof of how long you haven’t been listening to us.”
“So, if I show you a piece of cheese, you’ll be fascinated?”
“Depends on the cheese, honestly. Cheddar is a bit dicey since it’s pretty basic, but if you pull out a bit of Brie, you might just tickle my fancy.”
“Then you should be glad you’re sitting down for this,” he said, opening the fridge. He reached onto the top shelf and pulled something down, slowly turning to reveal a pre-prepared cheese board with at least eight different cheeses on it. “How’s that?”
I cast my gaze over what had to be the fanciest collection of cheese I’d ever seen in my life. “Yeah, honestly, I’m pretty fascinated by that right now. What’s that one?”
“I think it has cranberries in it. Mum likes it.”
“I don’t know how I feel about fruit in my cheese.”
“In my opinion, you’re better off not knowing. It’s gross.” He put the board back in the fridge and swapped it for a bottle of wine.
I pointed at it. “No. Put that back.”
“Why? We’re eating, so why not have a glass?”
“Because absolutely nothing good happens when I drink wine around you.”
Thomas nudged the door shut and smirked. “That depends on your definition of the word ‘good.’ Personally, I enjoyed it the last time you got drunk and kissed me.”
“I think you’re remembering that night wrong. I definitely did not kiss you.”
“Oh, come on, Sylvie.” He put the bottle down on the island and pulled two glasses from a rack. “Either nothing good happens when you drink around me, or you didn’t kiss me. You can’t have it both ways.”
I parted my lips to argue, but I swiftly closed my mouth again.
He was right.
I couldn’t have it both ways.
Bloody hell.
I hated it when he was right.
“On second thought, I’ll take the alcohol.”
“Fine.” He popped the cork out with ease and started pouring. “But I’ve got my eye on you in case you try anything with me.”
“I’m not going to try anything with you! I didn’t even try anything then,” I argued, watching as he moved to get bowls for the soup. “It was an accident, and you know it.”
“I don’t know it. For all I know, you were aiming for my lips.”