Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
“Wait.”
His voice stops me mid-step. It’s softer now, like he heard himself and realized just how harsh he was being. I stop and hesitantly glance back over my shoulder.
“This is a book for work,” he says. “I’m in security. I’m a consultant.”
Something about his face has changed. The chill is still there—the steel. But there’s a softness now. A flicker of something that might be regret. Or at least something close to it.
He’s making an effort, but I don’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” He stops and takes a breath. “I’m not used to people approaching me. My name’s Chris. What’s yours?”
He extends a hand—a strong, capable hand that has me chewing my lower lip. I set the mugs down on the table in front of him and take it. A jolt runs through my wrist and up my hand like an electric current, and in an instant, my pulse is racing.
“Avery,” I manage to say. The corner of his mouth moves. He almost smiles.
“Thanks for the coffee, Avery.”
I should walk away now while I’m still ahead. But my heart is pounding, and it’s like an invisible force pulling me closer and closer. I nod to the chair in front of him, and he nods back. I take a seat.
“Security consulting,” I say, crossing one leg over the other in an attempt to look cute. “Is that an interesting profession?”
“Not to most people.”
“I’m not most people.” It comes out bolder than I meant. Almost like I’m flirting, which I have no idea how to do. My cheeks go hot. “I mean—this is just my day job. I really want to be a photographer one day.”
Why am I telling him this? I don’t tell anyone about my dreams. Except for my best friend, Jules.
He watches me with those pale blue eyes, and for the first time, his defensiveness seems to have softened. Now he looks at me with curiosity. The way you might look at a bird you’ve never seen before that just flew through your window and landed on your bed.
“You live around here, Avery?” he asks.
“City Heights. Not far. I rent a place with two other girls. How about you?”
The defensiveness returns. He moves his head side to side noncommittally. “Close enough.”
It’s not a real answer, but he does finally take a sip of the coffee. And he doesn’t set it down right away either. He holds it, which tells me he’s not in a hurry to leave this conversation. In fact, he pulls his chair closer to mine.
My heart jumps. Being this close, I can actually smell him. It’s a clean scent—woody with citrus notes. Maybe the soap he uses. But it goes straight up my nose and down into my core, anchoring me in place.
“So what kind of photography do you do, Avery?”
He’s asking me questions now. I almost don’t know how to answer. “Portraits mostly. I like people, I guess, so I like taking pictures of them.” I laugh and it comes out like a snort, causing my cheeks to get even hotter. How embarrassing. Chris, however, doesn’t react.
“You take pictures of strangers? Friends?”
Chris may not be used to being approached by people, but I’m definitely not used to gorgeous men asking me questions about myself. I don’t even know how I found the courage to come over here and talk to him. Now my head is swimming in the clouds.
“My friend Jules, mostly,” I say, sipping my coffee. “She doesn’t mind posing for me. Then my parents too. They live back in New Hampshire.”
His eyes search my face like he’s discovering something. That hint of a smile has broadened into something almost fully realized. And that has me squirming in my seat.
My cell buzzes in my pocket, and the bells above the front door chime. My stomach drops before I even look up. I already know.
Jules.
She sweeps into the shop like a storm front, her wavy dark hair bouncing, her oversized purse knocking into a display of birthday cards. “Avey, Avey, Avey!” she calls out, spotting me. “I’m double-parked, let’s get outta here. I got us a reservation at—”
She stops. Her eyes land on me, then move to Chris. She examines the book in his lap, then spots the edge of his tattoo peeking out from beneath his sleeve. Her expression instantly shifts from one of glee to one of stern concern.
“Who’s this?” It’s a rhetorical question, which really means what are you doing?
“Oh.” I glance at Chris. His expression has sealed shut again, causing my heart to sink. “Yeah, we just met. We were talking—”
“Great,” she says, already at my side, her hand closing around my arm. “We’ve got plans, so let’s go.” She flashes a fake smile at Chris with no warmth behind it. “It was wonderful to meet you.”
Chris says nothing. He just watches as Jules pulls me to my feet, his expression something I can’t decipher. Anger? Frustration?