Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Maybe not.
But after the day I’d had, I figured it couldn’t really get much worse.
Besides, Dante was true to his word; he let me keep the gun.
It sat there in my lap on the ride, heavier than I imagined it would be.
I wouldn’t be able to use it.
But I felt like it said something that Dante was willing to let me have a weapon I could potentially use against him.
As we made our way down the highway, I found myself wondering what kind of home Dante had. I knew from his mother that he had a house with lots of room for children. I knew from Dante himself that he’d been redecorating. But I had no idea what house style to expect.
We pulled down a dreamy tree-lined street that felt far removed from the bustling main drags of Navesink Bank.
We drove halfway down and slowed in front of a gorgeous three-level white colonial with black shutters, a front porch, a balcony, a brick front path, and some well-shaped shrubs.
His mom was right; it was the perfect house for a family. She was also right about his gardens needing a little warmth and color.
“Wow.”
“I got really lucky with this one,” he said as we pulled into the newly paved driveway. “There was a four-way bidding war on it.”
Granted, I only knew about the rental prices in the area, but even those prices were astronomical. I couldn’t imagine how much it cost to buy a small starter home, let alone a sprawling old colonial.
“Coming?” he asked, making me realize he’d already cut the engine and come around to open my door while I’d been looking into his lush backyard.
None of the properties in Navesink Bank were huge, but it was a decent plot with a lot of old trees and shrubs that made it feel like a private oasis.
“Yeah,” I agreed, carefully grabbing the gun and then following Dante up the front path.
Inside, I was met by an open, creamy white interior with warm brown wood floors, a console table, and doorways to either side, along with a center staircase.
To the right was a study with nothing inside, save for the drop cloths on the floor and several gallons of paint and supplies sitting on a table.
To the left was a fully finished dining room featuring a gorgeous table with seating for twelve. Which I wasn’t sure would even accommodate his immediate family.
“The kitchen probably has the best light,” he said, leading me through the dining room and into the exact kitchen he’d described to me: warm woods, brick, creamy whites, pops of green, and copper pots.
“I didn’t realize it was done.”
“It needs a backsplash still but it’s almost there.”
He led me over to a small built-in corner kitchen table. He took the gun and set it on the table for me, then watched me lower down.
“Give me a few minutes to grab the supplies. What do you want to drink?”
“Something that might help numb the pain.”
“I can do that,” he agreed.
I watched him leave before gawking at his kitchen, admiring the sprawling island, the commercial-grade range, and the massive refrigerator.
“Where are your appliances?” I asked when I caught him watching me look around.
“Appliance garage,” he said, dropping off the supplies by me, then walking over toward what looked like a floor-to-ceiling built-in, but he pulled up a door to reveal a hiding space for all of his small appliances. “I hate a cluttered counter.”
“It’s great. You really made the best kitchen.”
“Thanks. I haven’t had a chance to cook in it yet, but I’m looking forward to it. All right. I got you cranberry vodka mixed with some cran-grape. Figure that would be the least offensive way to drink enough of it to give you some pain relief.”
I didn’t know what to think about the fact that it was the exact right drink for me.
I drank down nearly half of it, feeling the heat spread through me as Dante got a basin full of warm, soapy water.
Then he was in front of me, carefully cleaning my face before dropping my hands into the basin, one at a time.
After the dirt was gone, Dante set up a standing, lighted magnifier, slid my hand under it, and reached for his tweezers.
“Might be better if you don’t watch,” he suggested before he bent over the magnifier.
I drained the last of my drink, then slid my eyes closed, trying to drift away from the sensation of the tweezers nipping into my skin, sometimes digging around to find the shards of glass he was trying to extract.
The problem was that I’d been awake the whole night before, and the alcohol was only making me more tired.
The world felt like it was spinning as I stared at the backs of my eyelids.
“You okay?” Dante asked, his voice soft.
“Tired,” I admitted, cracking my eyes open to find him adding some antibiotic cream to a fresh piece of gauze.