Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I shake my head, chuckling as I sit across from her. “Don’t start.”
She points her pen at me. “People are talking, you know.”
“What else is new?” I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, but this time they’re saying you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”
I snort. “Definitely don’t have one of those. Not yet.”
Her brows lift at that. “Not yet, huh? What’s her name?”
“Wren.”
“I knew it!” She pauses, trying to place it. “Wren what?”
“She’s an author. Grew up here. Moved back recently. Will Cunningham’s stepdaughter.”
That does it—her eyes widen in recognition. “Will Cunningham? Haven’t heard that name in a while.”
“Yeah.”
Glenda sets her pen down, folding her hands. “When do I get to meet her?”
I shrug. “Not sure if that’s on the table. She doesn’t seem to want much to do with me. I’m working on changing her mind.”
Glenda chuckles. “Well, sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you. You know you’ve got a reputation around here, don’t you?”
I glance at her, sighing. “Yeah. Heartbreaker. I’ve heard.”
“Bothers you.”
“Of course it does,” I admit. “Makes me sound heartless. Like I get off on wasting people’s time. Like I catch and release for sport.”
She waits, knowing there’s more.
“I’ve never done that,” I tell her. “I just know what I want and what I don’t. If I’m not feeling it, I’d rather cut it off than keep someone around for convenience. Felt like the noble thing, not leading anyone on. Guess that doesn’t play well in a town like this.”
Glenda smiles softly, that knowing mother-hen expression she reserves just for me. “You’re the most eligible bachelor in Jasperville County. All the girls want to be with you. It’s not the worst thing in the world, you know. In fact, that alone means you’re allowed to be picky.”
“Yeah, well,” I grunt. “Don’t think it’s helping. Wren probably thinks I’m some antisocial, coldhearted perpetual bachelor.”
Glenda shrugs. “So what? Keep trying. That’s all you can do. With enough time, she’ll see you for who you really are.”
I nod, because she’s right. “That’s the plan.”
38
Wren
I’m already five chapters into Unsent Love Letters, and I still can’t decide if it’s brilliant or way too on the nose.
It’s a book about a romance writer with writer’s block who moves back to her hometown to start fresh, and wouldn’t you know it—she’s got a grumpy farmer neighbor. She writes him love letters she’ll never send, just to get her spark back.
It’s suspiciously familiar, but no one needs to know that besides me and my editor.
Hunter, if he ever found out, would probably have a fit about me putting personal details in my books. But I won’t. Maybe a cute line or two, sure—but the things we do together, especially in the bedroom? That’s ours. Just ours. I’d never put that in print, no matter how much the world might eat it up.
I finish polishing chapter five and email the first batch of chapters to Laurel before my stomach grumbles loud enough to startle me. Closing my laptop, I stretch before heading to the kitchen to fix myself a sandwich.
Out the window, I spot Hunter’s truck rumbling past, headed toward his shop up the hill, a trail of gravel dust in its wake.
And just like that, my plans change.
I throw together a couple of ham sandwiches, toss in some chips, and grab two bottled waters. At the last second, I slip into a pair of cutoff jean shorts, a white tank—no bra because why bother—and slide on some leather thong sandals.
Ten minutes later, I’m pushing open the door to his shop. The space is massive, all high ceilings and steel beams, scattered with equipment in various states of disrepair.
Hunter’s crouched behind a tractor axle, and the second he looks up and sees me, his entire face shifts—softens, brightens.
“Brought you lunch,” I say, holding up the bag.
“How’d you know I was starving,” he quips, wiping his hands on a rag as he stalks toward me. His eyes are already dark, fixed on me like I’m dessert. Something tells me he’s not starving for food . . .
The door clicks shut behind me, and he’s on me before I can even set the bag down.
“You’re gonna walk in dressed like that and expect me to eat a sandwich?” he growls, gripping my hips, fingers digging into the waistband of my shorts.
I grin. “I was making myself a lunch. Thought you might be hungry.”
“Oh, I’m hungry all right,” he says, yanking the shorts down my legs in one swift, impatient move. Before I can say anything else, he lifts me effortlessly, propping me up on a nearby workbench where he then spreads my legs apart and angles himself between them.
“You sure we have time for this?” I tease.
“No. Not at all. Boys’ll be back any minute,” he says, dropping to his knees, looking up at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted. “But this won’t take long.”