Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Once we have Riley on his leash, we walk inside and are quickly shown to our table on the rooftop.
“Down,” Skyla says to Riley, and he lies under the table at her feet.
I have so many questions about the dog, but I’m going to hold those until later.
Instead, we order drinks, Guinness for both of us, and settle in with the menu.
“What do you like on your pizza?” I ask.
“I lived in New York City for a decade, so I’m pretty much a pepperoni kind of girl, but I’m open to suggestions.”
“Works for me.”
“Bee tells me that you own a dairy farm,” she says, sipping the beer placed in front of her. “Ah, I get one of these a year, and it’s bloody fantastic.”
“Just one? And you’re using that one on me?”
Skyla winks at me over the rim. “That I am. Now, tell me about your farm.”
“Tell me why you only get one beer a year.”
“Because it has a lot of extra calories, and dancers stay away from those. Maybe now that I’m not dancing professionally anymore, I could have it twice a year.”
Yeah, I have a million questions.
“The farm?” she prompts me.
“Yes, I run a dairy farm I inherited from my parents. I also have a fairly new guest ranch that’s a pain in my ass.”
“Yes, guests can be difficult. My family owns hotels.”
Gallagher Resorts. Everyone in the world recognizes that name, even if they don’t travel often. It’s as recognizable as Hilton or Ritz-Carlton.
“Honey, your family owns an empire.”
Her cheeks darken, and she shrugs a shoulder. “Yes, well, that’s true enough. I grew up in hotels all over the world, and I can tell you that whether you’re a small operation or a large one, patrons can be difficult.”
“You didn’t want to go into the family business?”
We’re interrupted by the server who takes our order, then Skyla leans her elbows on the table.
“I didn’t want to work for my family, no. I’ve been a dancer since I was old enough to walk. I moved to New York City to dance when I was just sixteen.”
I lift an eyebrow. “I assume your parents went with you?”
“My mother did for a while. Then they’d send a nanny or my brother. I always had someone with me to help, but I was so focused on the work that it didn’t matter who was there. I was too busy working my way up through the ranks until I finally secured a prima ballerina position. It’s all I wanted. And I worked my arse off for it.”
“I believe it. I only saw you dance for a few minutes, but it was pure magic.”
“I know that it was meant to be a private moment, but it’s glad I am that you saw me dance, so you have an idea of what it looks like.”
“It looks like art.”
“And it is art, yes. I loved it.”
“Why did you stop?”
A shadow moves over her face as the pizza is set down between us. When we’re alone again, I reach across the table to take her hand.
“Hey, Irish. You don’t have to talk about that. Forget I asked, okay?”
“I don’t mind,” she admits, but doesn’t let go of my hand right away. “But maybe we’ll talk more about it after dinner, okay?”
“Sure.” Reluctantly, I pull my hand away, and we dish up slices of the pie and take a bite. “Mmm, fucking good pizza.”
She nods, then wipes her mouth with a napkin. “It reminds me of a favorite spot of mine in New York. Anyway, tell me more about your dairy farm. How many cows do you have that produce milk for you?”
I frown as I swallow a bite. “Do you really want to know about this stuff?”
“Of course. It’s what you do, where you live. The purpose of a date is to get to know each other better. I want to know everything.”
It’s been my experience that women don’t want anything at all to do with my ranch, least of all the farm side of it.
Tori couldn’t get out of there fast enough. It almost gave me whiplash.
“I have six milking cows,” I explain. “They’re milked twice a day.”
“But not with a stool and your own two hands,” she says with a grin.
“Not anymore, no. We have machines for it that are faster, but sometimes a cow needs to be milked by hand. We’re a small dairy, not a huge corporation, so if a cow needs a little TLC, we can give it to her.”
“I’ve milked a cow, you know.” Her eyes shine as she bites into her crust.
“Tell me more.” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. The way her eyes flick down to my biceps isn’t lost on me. It almost makes me want to flex. “I find it surprising that a hotel heiress has had an occasion to milk a cow.”