Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Are you secretly a therapist or something?” he asks, his tone light and teasing.
“Nah, but I’ve had a lot of it. It helps more than you know. To talk to someone. To have someone in Switzerland who is concerned with your life to help you unpack the chaos of the past.”
“I went as a kid, but not since. It was something my social worker said I had to do.”
“I can give you the number to mine if you ever want it.”
“I should get your number, too. I mean, in case I ever need to cancel or something.”
I smile, because he could call the agency, but when an Adonis of a man, with big, strong hands and a soft heart, asks for your number, you give it to him. “I guess.” I sigh, as if handing over my digits to this man is a hardship for me.
Reaching across the island, he grabs his phone, unlocks it, and hands it to me. I quickly add my number. “Text yourself,” he tells me. “You know, in case you need to cancel or something,” he says.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s a slight coat of pink covering his cheeks, but he looks away quickly, so I can’t be sure. However, I do know his heart is soft. I recognize so much of myself in him, but he’s more reserved about his past. I guess his high-profile career is a reason for that, but it’s also a reason to speak up about it. He could use his platform to advocate.
“Done,” I say, handing his phone back to him, and my phone beeps from its spot in my back pocket. His hand brushes mine, and sparks ignite. I don’t know if he feels it, but his eyes widen slightly, so I’m guessing it wasn’t a one-sided zap.
“Will you go somewhere with me today?”
“Uh, sure. I mean, if you have errands you need me to run for you, I’ll take care of it.”
“No, it’s not an errand. I-I want you to come with me.”
“Where are we going? And I’m supposed to be cleaning, but I can come back and do that tomorrow.”
“No, it’s fine. But today, you’re with me.” He stands, grabs our empty plates, and places them in the sink. “Give me five,” he says, rushing away, taking the steps two at a time. I know because I watched him walk away.
Butterflies take flight in my belly at the thought of spending the day with him. Standing, I busy myself cleaning up from breakfast, cover the leftover cinnamon rolls with foil, and leave the pan sitting on the stove for now. I’m wiping off the counters when he comes back into the kitchen, clothes changed, with a Nashville Rampage hat pulled low over his eyes.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
I laugh. “Cleaning for you is literally my job.”
“Today, you’re just Eden, and I’m just Foster, okay?” He reaches out as if he’s going to take my hand but quickly drops his arm back to his side.
“Just Eden and Foster. Got it.” I nod. I don’t know where he’s taking me, but after the heaviness of our conversation this morning, I’m guessing it’s something important.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Am I dressed okay?” I look down at my black dress pants and Dust ‘N Shine polo shirt.
“You’re perfect, Eden,” he says, his voice dropping to a sexy rasp.
“I already agreed to go,” I tease, trying to hide my nerves. “Wait, are you taking me to some abandoned spot in the mountains to off me?” I ask.
“I’m not in the habit of killing beautiful women, Eden. Come on.” This time, he does grab my hand before he leads me out to his garage. He opens the passenger door for me, and I smile up at him.
“A girl could get used to this. Thank you, Jeeves.” I bounce my eyebrows, smiling.
“Smartass.” He chuckles. “Get in the car, woman.”
“Yes, sir.” I salute him, and hunger flashes in those brown eyes of his. I look away, drop to my seat, and pull the seat belt over my chest as he shuts the door. “Okay, I should have asked this before I agreed to go. What kind of music do you listen to? Your answer could make or break this trip,” I say, turning to look at him as best as I can with the seat belt strapped against my chest.
“I can listen to anything.”
“Really? Let’s test that theory.” Reaching over, I turn up the radio, and eighties rock fills the air around us. “Mötley Crüe, nice.” I nod. “I approve,” I tease. He chuckles, and we spend the rest of the drive talking about music.
“We’re here,” Foster says as he pulls into the driveway of the local children’s home.
I glance over at him to see that he’s gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles are turning white. He’s staring at the building with a look I can’t name from this angle. I want to reach over and take his hand in mine, but I don’t want to overstep.