Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Same thing.” Easton pauses mid-chew, raising an eyebrow at me. He swallows and shakes his head. “She’s in charge of the knights. And she keeps wanting to add rhinestones.”
His mom has been watching us, gaze shooting back and forth between his face and mine. Her eyes light up with amusement at the thought of her son making things shimmer. “Rhinestones, hey? Sounds sparkly.”
Easton rolls his eyes. “You know if it were up to me, we’d slap the paint on and call it a day. But Harper’s got this whole vision.” He holds his hands up and wiggles his fingers beside his face, basically implying that I’m over-the-top.
I scoff. “You mock me, but it’s the razzle-dazzle that they require. The knights need a little flair.”
“If you think they do, I’m sure they do.” Mrs. Westermann laughs softly. “Don’t let some silly boy pooh-pooh your ideas.”
“Oh, she doesn’t—trust me. Harper is in charge and she knows it.”
“Good.” His mother has no idea what he’s implying; the last thing we need is for her to find out the truth!
I seriously want to smack him.
Why are guys such morons?
“I will say this.” She pauses to take a bite of cookie. “For a guy who spends the majority of his time playing hockey, he has a real knack for crafting—and an eye for decorating.” She pauses. “Oh! Speaking of eyes, Easton, could you do me a favor and run to the she shed? I think I left my glasses on the workbench, but I’m too lazy to walk out there. You can take Harper with you—I’m sure she’d love to have a look around.”
She punctuates her sentence with a wink, and for a heartbeat I have to wonder: Is his mother playing matchmaker the same way Macy is?
“Ugh,” he groans—but there’s no actual protest. I’m sure he knows better than to argue when his mom; I sure cannot argue with mine.
I glance at Easton. “The she shed?” I want to hear more!
“You’ll see.” His mom beams at me, waving toward the window. “It’s just out back.” She gives Easton a pointed look that has him rising from the kitchen stool and gesturing for me to follow.
“All right, all right. Let’s go.”
I get up from the counter, giving his mom a grateful smile. “Thanks for the cookies, Mrs. Westermann.”
Rudy gets excited and hops up on my legs. I bend to give him a scratch behind his cute little ears.
“Anytime, Harper.” She lets out a breath. “Oh! Easton mentioned something about prom? And the two of you? If you’re going, can you make sure you let us know what color your dress is so we can order a bouquet?”
A bouquet? I haven’t thought of details like that.
“It’s pink,” I say. “My dress is powder pink.”
“Sounds perfect. I can’t wait to see it,” she gushes.
As Easton and I step outside, the late-afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the backyard. Rudy darts ahead of us, immediately getting the zoomies and racing all over the fenced-in backyard, a tiny terror if I’ve ever seen one. I laugh, trailing Easton toward a small replica of the big house, sort of checking out his backside (and by backside I mean butt. Is that so wrong?).
His mother’s shed is nestled at the far end of the yard; it’s a charming structure with a tiny porch and flower boxes under each of the two front windows. It’s exactly the kind of place I’ve seen on social media—and judging by the outside, I imagine the inside is the sort of place every girl fantasizes about.
I don’t have to wait to find out.
Easton opens the door for me, gesturing for me to go in.
“Ladies first.”
I shoot him a smile as I step over the threshold, struck by how organized and colorful everything is. It’s soft pink—all of it—from top to bottom, light spilling in from the two big windows. Wood wainscoting. Bookshelves from floor to ceiling.
Pink sofa in the same shade against one wall.
A gold-and-crystal chandelier hangs in the center.
There’s also a desk—or workbench, as she called it—lined with jars of buttons, beads, and ribbons, fabric swatches hanging from hooks on the wall, and various crafting tools neatly arranged.
And the shelves? Full of books.
Lots and lots of books.
Romance novels, from the looks of it.
It’s like stepping into a Pinterest board.
“My gosh,” I breathe. “This place is literally amazing.”
“I guess.” He shrugs as if it were no big deal. “My dad has a man cave in the basement with trophies and memorabilia and shit, and she didn’t think it was fair for him to have his own space—so last year he built this.” He adjusts his stance. “Took him the entire summer.”
“She is so lucky.”
Easton shrugs again, and I begin to wonder if that’s his go-to response when he doesn’t know what to say.
“Do you ever hang out in here?”