Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“Well, bring it. As long as you promise not to look near the sun, Soph.”
“I’ll be like a pirate queen,” Sophie says, turning to me. “What about you?”
My heart skips a beat.
“What about me?” I pause, forkful of food halfway to my mouth.
“Are you like the landlord lady?”
“Yes, something like that,” I say awkwardly, determined not to look at Kane. “I mean, it’s not my real job.”
“What’s your real job?” Dan demands.
For a second, I hesitate. But they’re just kids.
Harmless, I hope.
“I design shoes,” I tell them. “It’s a work in progress, I mean, but that’s what I’d like to do.”
The interest in Dan’s face drains away, but Sophie looks at me in awe. “Shoes? You design shoes?” she whispers with reverence, like she can’t imagine anything cooler. She looks under the table at my feet. “Like, the kinda shoes you’re wearing? You have people walking around with your shoes?”
I laugh.
“Are there any other kind? Mine aren’t good enough to be worn just yet, but a girl can dream. I can show you some designs, if you want. Do you like shoes?”
Her cheeks flush.
“Love them, but I don’t really get a chance to—aw, never mind,” she mutters.
When I look over, Kane watches with a hawkish intensity.
Perfect segue to the question I’ve been wanting to ask since we met.
“What about you, Mr. Saint? What do you do?”
His gaze slides over my face.
I get the impression he’s sizing me up again, just like yesterday, and my shoulders tense.
“Nothing as glamorous as shoes,” he says, nodding at Sophie, who’s still watching me.
“No, but come on. Is it top secret or what?” I joke.
He sits back and shrugs, stuffing a forkful of food into his mouth, offering nothing.
Um, okay.
When my gaze intensifies, he finally says, “I exited a start-up recently. Still planning my next move. Looking for my next big headache, I guess.”
Start-up, huh?
That is a surprise.
He’s a certified dick, but he doesn’t exactly strike me as the dorky tech bro type with their head in the clouds—or just their bank account.
That’s also not much of an answer.
I want to poke him, but before I can fire off more questions, there’s a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it.” Kane levers up from his chair, but I wave a hand.
“No way. You enjoy your breakfast. It’s my house, remember?”
It’s a relief to get away from the table, even if I’m not sure why.
Maybe because it felt so warm with the kids making easy conversation. A far cry from the stuffy, formal dinners I had at my parents’ table as a kid.
They make it too easy to feel like more than an awkward stranger crashing their family getaway.
Thank God for the adorable kiddos, really.
Sitting next to Kane Saint feels jarring enough. If it was just him, I’m not sure I could stand sharing the house.
Still, I find myself breathing easier as I walk to the front door and turn the bolt.
I blink dumbly at the unfamiliar couple waiting outside.
They’re older and kind of worn-looking, all wrinkles and leathery tans that must come from years in the harsh sun. I’d guess they’re in their late forties or fifties, squarely middle age.
The woman immediately sticks out her hand and cracks a smile too large for her face.
Her blonde hair looks unnaturally bleached, but there’s a healthy earthy vibe to her greeting that puts me more at ease.
“Hi, there! Are you the new owner?” Her smile looks bone-white next to the tan of her face and the sharp lines around her eyes. “I saw the car parked out front and I couldn’t help dropping by to say hello.”
I accept her handshake.
“Close enough. Margot Blackthorn, nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m Leonidas’ granddaughter, actually.”
“Oh, poor Leon.” The woman makes a sympathetic face.
Leon? I blink at her.
I’ve never heard anyone call him that.
“It was such a shame to hear about his passing. I’m Viola Babin, and this is my husband, Joseph. We own the big old blueberry farm next door.”
Ohhh.
I do have vague memories of the distant property, backing up to a farm many acres away, but I hadn’t given it much thought until now. There’s a lot of natural privacy around here from thick tufts of forest.
As kids, we spent so much time on the water or tromping through Acadia that we never strayed too far off PopPop’s land and onto anyone else’s.
“Neighbors, that’s nice. Glad to meet you,” I say. “How can I help you? Did you know my grandfather?”
“Oh, we just came by to introduce ourselves and see how you’re settling in. Lord knows this old place sat vacant for too long, and Sully Bay doesn’t get a lot of new faces, even seasonal ones.” Viola’s rattling laugh clashes with her tired cheeks and no-nonsense faded denim jacket. “And yes, Leon was such a good neighbor to us. So humble for being stinkin’ rich and famous.”