Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” he says with a big sigh. “I’d appreciate it.”
I had a feeling he needed that. And I like being there for him. Especially when he sets a hand on my back as he moves past me, sliding his fingers across the fabric of my shirt.
It’s out of sight from anyone else. But still, I keep thinking of our rule: No little sneaky displays of affection.
It feels like he broke it.
And I like it.
But Tyler refuses to let me touch the pumpkin pie. As it’s baking (without gummy bears), I peer across the open kitchen to the dining room. “I’ll finish setting the table,” I say.
He grabs my arm. It’s not overly romantic, but I do scan around to see if anyone’s looking. No one is. “You don’t have to do…that stuff,” he says, with a hint of…worry perhaps in his voice?
“I don’t mind,” I say, and really, this is so much more fun than last year when hired help scurried around my parents’ home, setting everything up. I sat awkwardly in the pristinely appointed living room, entertaining my mother’s rich friends from the country club, asking about their grandchildren and bridge clubs and book clubs where no one read anything by an author who didn’t look like them.
Tyler pulls me deeper into the kitchen, closer to the hallway, out of earshot of everyone. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. To set the table. And stuff.”
I think I know what he means by and stuff. He doesn’t want me to feel any expectations—that sex means we’re a couple.
But my desire to help isn’t coming from there. It’s coming from me wanting to do a great job. “I’m the nanny. It’s okay. My job is to make everything easier for you.”
“Sabrina.” He whispers my name with a plea. “You’ve made my life easier. It’s okay. I want you to sit down and enjoy yourself.”
“I will. I promise. I want to help.” Maybe there’s a bit of a plea in my voice. But it’s hard for me to abandon this intense desire to do a good job.
“You can hang with Trevyn. You are doing a great job. You don’t have to be…perfect,” he whispers, seeing straight through me and serving up a shot of truth right to my heart. A truth I didn’t expect, but maybe one I need.
I think of Elena. The things we’ve worked on over the years. The letting go of my perfectionist tendencies. True, I haven’t told her about Tyler, but at least I can honor this—the things she’s helped me with.
“Thank you,” I say.
But before I go, he asks with anticipation and nerves, “Have you heard anything?”
It’s adorable. The way he’s as eager to hear from Little Friends as I am. I re-signed up for the foster kitten list and have been waiting. It’s been two days—slightly less than forty-eight hours—and nothing.
“Not yet. I keep checking,” I say.
“Let me know the second you hear.”
“I will,” I say, promising once again.
And I’m about to head into the living room, but he doesn’t let go of my arm. Instead, he rubs his thumb against my wrist in a subtle pattern that melts me and turns me on at the same time. My heart speeds up, and I wish fervently he’d yank me against him and kiss me—a quick, chaste kiss that would be a promise of more.
But he doesn’t of course. We have rules that we’re mostly not breaking. “Remember what I said the other night? When we sit down at the table?” he says, his voice low and raspy, his eyes fiery with the reminders of the way we fucked the other night.
A rush of pleasure zings through me. “Oh, I remember.”
“Me too. It’s all I can think about—how you looked when I bent you over the counter. I’m going to be thinking about the way you sound when you come as you’re eating my risotto. Well, when I’m not thinking about that kitten.”
I laugh. “Do you even like kittens?”
“What do you think I am? A monster?”
“I don’t know. You’ve never talked about kittens before.”
“Well, watch out. I’m gonna be talking about them now. Why don’t you check your email? Maybe you got something in the last few minutes.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m totally loving his pre-smitten-ness. I take out my phone and check. It’s empty.
His shoulders sag. “Soon,” he says, and I’m hopeful too.
Before I can retreat to the living room to join my friend, Tyler’s mother wanders into the kitchen. “So, how’s all that dating going, Sabrina?”
The question makes me go rigid. What the hell do I say to her? Tyler gives me a look that could wither mountains, but I don’t know what it means. We’ve never talked about what we’re saying to his mother. And I wait for him to say something.