Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Try it out,” she said, dropping down onto it.
I wasn’t about to turn that offer down.
“Wow. It’s even better than I thought,” she declared.
I didn’t know if I could agree with her or not because her leg was pressed up against mine. So was her shoulder. And when she turned her head to look at me, she was close enough to just slightly lean in and press my lips to hers.
“I think I found a couch,” I said.
“Yeah?” she asked, beaming. “What color?”
“Think I want this exact one,” I told her.
And not because it had her honeysuckle scent all over it. Because that would have been fucking insane.
“Okay. I’m going to go check out the lamps while you do the boring ordering part,” she said, slapping a hand on my thigh to push herself to her feet.
I had to sit there for a second, willing my cock to calm back down before I made my way to the desk to do the ‘boring ordering part.’
“Actually,” I said, glancing over to see Dasha checking out a lamp that featured a copper rabbit wearing the shade like a skirt. “Can I add another couch to the order?”
“The same couch?”
“Yes. But in pink.”
“Pink?” the salesman asked, brow quirking up.
“Yeah, pink. But sent to a different address.”
“We can definitely arrange that,” he agreed, posture going straighter at the idea of more of a commission. “What’s the other address?”
“Tell you what. That pretty girl with the rabbit lamp is gonna come up here in a second. I am going to ask her for her address. You are going to jot that down and ship the couch there. And in exchange for your discretion, I’ll take that whole dining set to my address too,” I said, waving over toward the one that Dasha had oohed and ahhed over when we’d passed them on the way to the couches.
“Very well, sir,” he said, practically buzzing with excitement.
“I know it’s kind of silly,” Dasha said as she walked up with the lamp.
“Nah, I like it. It has character.”
“Exactly,” she agreed, beaming.
I pointed to the lamp as well, and the salesman was quick enough to know to add that to my bill too.
”So Dasha, where am I dropping you off after this?”
“Oh, 152 Crescent Circle.”
“In Navesink Bank?” I asked. Sure, I’d lived there my whole life, but I didn’t know every damn street name.
“Yes. It’s a charming little dead end. So peaceful over there.”
The salesman gave me a nod, letting me know he got the information.
“Sounds nice,” I said, taking back my credit card. “Ready to head out?”
“Wait, I have to pay for my lamp,” she said.
“It’s taken care of,” the salesman said, and I got to watch Dasha’s confusion turn to understanding, and then a big smile shot in my direction.
And, damn, if that didn’t feel like a punch to the chest.
“Think of it as a housewarming gift,” I told her as I held the door open.
“The only one I’ve gotten,” she admitted.
“No friends or family around here?”
“No. My mom passed when I was young. My father lives abroad with his… fifth wife.”
“Wow.”
“That came off a little snarkier than I meant it. We’re not close, but there are no hard feelings either.”
“Were you close with your uncle then?”
“Phil?” she asked as I turned the car over. “No, actually. I only remember him from one summer when I was seven. Right after my mom died. My dad… spiraled. Uncle Phil stepped up when child services got involved.
“But after that, well, I didn’t know how to keep in touch when my father took me to the other coast. I should have tried harder when I got older…”
“Teens are notoriously shitty about keeping in touch with families. My mom had to always be on my ass to keep me showing up to family functions. I wanted to be out with friends. Or, let’s face it, girls.” To that, her smile went a little tight. “But it seems like your uncle understood, since he left everything to you.”
“I hope so,” she agreed, running her finger over the feet of the bunny lamp and gave me a couple of directions toward her place.
She was right; it was a charming little dead-end road featuring only four ranches in slightly different styles, but all having the classic picture windows out front and the single garage door.
“It’s that one,” Dasha said, pointing toward the one just to the side of the dead end; the one with the cement driveway that was spiderweb cracked, allowing some little weeds to creep through. “I know,” she said as I pulled in the drive. “It needs some serious TLC. But it has pretty good bones.”
“Just needs some curb appeal. A couple of shrubs and flowers… maybe paint that hideous puke-green front door…”
“Right? What was he thinking?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “I would invite you in, but it’s a complete disaster.”