Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
He was beaming at Sam. “I think we very much would.”
“Well, both my kids are about to run off to college, and Jory and I will need more friends to hang out with, so you should definitely give him your number.”
“Before I do, I have to be honest and tell you that I was very interested in him when I walked out to join him on the patio. He’s quite beautiful, as you know.”
“I do know,” Sam replied easily, passing Carwood a spoon, a napkin, and then a bowl of ravioli in cream.
“Thank you,” he said and then continued, “But so you know, I am an absolute believer in the sanctity of marriage, and the moment he told me about you, I immediately placed him in the friend category.”
“I appreciate your candor,” Sam assured him. “Are you not involved with anyone at the moment?”
He glanced at me and then back at Sam. “Mr. Kage––”
“Sam,” my husband corrected before passing me all the things he’d given Carwood, bowl, spoon, and napkin.
“Sam, as you can see, I’m a bit obese at the moment.”
“I would say husky, not obese,” Sam stated as he pulled a knife from his other back pocket and cut the bread into pieces. He then offered Carwood a piece and then had one himself.
“Oh, you’re as charming as your husband.”
Sam scoffed. “Wait. Just wait.”
“But really, Sam, the chunkiness makes it hard to date.”
“Why?”
His eyes flicked to me again and then back to Sam. “I think you both might be confused about the dating environment at large. But looking like you do, I’m not surprised.”
“That’s a nice thing to say, Carwood,” Sam told him. “But I’ve always found that people who are intelligent, can carry on a conversation, and are kind will always triumph in the end. Believe me, I have a friend who’s really not at all attractive, like, you know, he looks like a caveman, with that Neanderthal brow, and now he’s married to a billionaire.”
I groaned under my breath, because in what realm of the imagination that Sam thought Duncan Stiel was not a gorgeous man, was completely beyond me.
“Plus, Jory here, he’s the love god.”
“So he said.”
“Yeah. He’ll get you hooked up.”
The door opened then, and Aja was there with a glass of chianti for me and the sangria for Carwood.
“I had no idea this was the place to be,” Aja announced as the dryer dinged. “What’s going on in here?”
We did the introductions once more. Carwood was thrilled to talk to her again, and told her how sorry he was for using her laundry room without permission.
“Jory was using it,” she told him, taking a piece of bread. “And he’s family, just like Sam, so not to worry. Plus, it seems as though we’re going to see more of you, don’t you agree?”
He was clearly dazzled by her.
Putting my bowl down, I hopped off the counter and went to check on his shirt. It was wrinkled, but Aja pointed to where the steamer was.
“It’ll take, like, half a second,” she assured me. “That steamer is the same one my dry cleaner has. It’s awesome. I did all the cloth napkins in, like, fifteen minutes.”
“Really?” I was impressed.
She nodded and then offered me a piece of bread.
“No, thank you, I don’t like it with the ravioli,” I told her, which Sam knew, that being the reason he didn’t give me one earlier.
“Wait, this meal wasn’t catered?” Carwood asked her, and I noted the splash of freckles across his nose and the highlights of gold in his red hair and how pleasing the sound of his voice was. “Did you cook all this wonderful food yourself, Mrs. Harcourt?”
“Aja,” she corrected him, “and no, I had help,” she said, turning to grin at me. “Jory was over yesterday making the ziti, because his is better than mine.”
Carwood took that moment to glance at me, looking utterly stunned.
“I told you I would speak to her about the Italian,” I told him before turning back to her. “We should have finger food next time and put cocktails and appetizers on the invite.”
She shrugged. “It would be easier, and Carwood has a point.”
“I do?” he asked her.
“I mean, we could have it catered.”
“Yeah, but who are we, Aaron?”
She scoffed. “Absolutely not, and I mean, I help you cook when the party’s at your house, you help me cook when the party’s at mine…it’s a good division of labor. But perhaps something less work intensive next time.”
“Finger food,” I suggested.
“I think so.”
“It might be better, and less work,” I admitted. "Hey, what's the name of your friend, the plastic surgeon, the one who's been married all those times?"
She thought a moment. "I have no idea who you mean."
“It's Russ,” Sam chimed in, and I turned to him. “But he's a rheumatologist, not a plastic surgeon.”