Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
I scoop up the sweatshirt. It’s heavier than it looks, with a Carhartt logo stitched on the chest and a small hole in one sleeve. I hold it up to my nose, inhaling the scent of detergent and Declan.
“Thanks.”
He leans over the bed and kisses my cheek. “I should be thanking you. You look good in my shirts.”
Thank God I’m sitting down or I might melt into a puddle.
Who is this sweet man, who only a few days ago was grumpy as hell and kicked me out of his shop?
“You look even better in them,” I say.
It’s not until we’re both dressed and headed downstairs that last night’s visions nudge me again.
A door closing.
Wet grass.
I stop and grip the handrail.
Flash of metal.
I bite the inside of my cheek and shove the memory down deep, where I can deal with it later.
Declan stops at the bottom of the stairs, turns, and frowns. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I force a bright smile and continue down the stairs. “Too much sugar, too early in the morning.”
His lips turn down with regret. “Sorry, I should’ve fed you a proper breakfast.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure Mrs. Applewood will have some nice greasy bacon waiting for me.”
“That she probably will.” He grabs my hand, pulling me closer. “Come by this afternoon when you’re done.”
It’s more a statement than an invitation. My stomach flips. There’s no awkwardness of a one-night stand or guessing with Declan. He wants to see me again later and says so plainly.
A girl could get used to this.
“I can do that.”
He holds my gaze for a beat, jaw flexing like he wants to say more. Maybe warn me to be careful. Avoid the cemetery. Or maybe he doesn’t want to say goodbye either?
Then he squeezes my hand and pushes the back door open, holding it for me. Cold air immediately wallops me in the face.
“Ooof, you weren’t kidding.” I shiver and hug my damp coat to my chest.
“That’s not warm enough for you.” He quickly shrugs out of his heavy flannel shirt and drapes it over my shoulders, leaving him in a long-sleeve T-shirt that fits him like a sexy second skin.
“What about you? Now you’ll be cold.”
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I can always run upstairs and grab something else.” He bites his lip and frowns. “I should give you a ride to—”
“I’m fine,” I assure him and shove my arms into the flannel. Over the sweatshirt, it’s bulky.
He helps me button it up to my chin.
“I’m going to look like a sentient marshmallow waddling around out there,” I joke, holding my arms out and swaying from side to side.
He leans in, brushing his lips against my ear. “A sexy marshmallow I’d like to eat later.”
Instant heat fans over every inch of my skin. “You…you are very talented at that,” I answer with zero chill.
“I don’t feel like I did my best work in the shower. I need a do-over.”
“You were excellent.” I clear my throat and flash a more confident smile. “But I won’t say no to a do-over.”
“Looking forward to it.” He kisses my cheek. “I don’t want to let you go but I have a session I need to get ready for.”
“I’d love to see pictures later.”
He nods, brushing a knuckle down my jaw in a way that should be illegal before nine in the morning. “I’ll text you when I’m done. But you can come into the shop anytime you want. Lucy will be here later.”
“Okay.”
More heat creeps up my cheeks. I need to get out of here before I embarrass myself by asking him to lock me in his room like some sort of Victorian attic bride.
He opens the back door again, letting another blast of cold air wash over us. I suck in a sharp breath and brace myself. Declan frowns like the weather personally offends him.
“Text me when you get to the inn,” he says. “Just so I know you made it.”
I’m not used to checking in with anyone else but Wren. But I don’t hate the idea. “I will.”
“Let me know what you get for breakfast,” he says. “Reassure me that you had something more substantial than cake.”
“Best cake I’ve ever had.”
He huffs out a short laugh—why do I love that sound so much—and opens the door wider.
I step outside and the cold slaps me awake, scrambling my thoughts just enough that I don’t turn back and climb him like a tree.
“Em,” he calls.
I look over my shoulder.
His gaze tracks down my borrowed layers, lingering on my face. “You look good like that,” he says, voice lower than before. “In my clothes.”
The words hit me like a spark dropped on dry tinder.
Gathering all my confidence and sass, I lower my lashes. “They’re going to look even better on your floor later.”
He bites his bottom lip like he’s picturing me naked right now. “Looking forward to it.”