Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Sounds good,” I reply and then don’t say anything else.
“Is that all?” she asks me after thirty seconds of silence.
“Yeah,” I say even though that isn’t all. I want to spend time on the phone talking to her. “That’s it.”
“Thanks for calling, Caleb.” She hangs up the phone, and I look down at it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask myself because there is no one here but me. “You should focus on growing your business, not the new girl moving to town.” I take another pull of my beer. “Send her the email and move on. She’s obviously not interested in you.” I look to the side when the oven beeps, smirking when I think of her. “She’s not interested in you yet.” I smirk. “Challenge accepted, Sierra. Challenge fucking accepted.”
Chapter 8
Sierra
I hang up the phone and look at it for a whole two minutes before I put it down beside me on the couch. My heart races when I close my eyes and see him standing in front of me wearing his fucking sunglasses, looking like he’s a GQ fucking model instead of a contractor. Sure, he was wearing worn jeans and a gray T-shirt that molded to him with his steel-toed boots. His dark brown hair pushed back, and you could see where his fingers went into said hair. My eyes went to the tattoos on his arms, trying not to ogle them too much while telling myself that he’s off-limits. He’s also way too good-looking to start anything with. You just know a guy that good-looking must have a trail of broken hearts behind him. I have enough shit going on in my life. I don’t need to take on Caleb Walker.
I pick my phone back up when I hear a ping coming from it and see I have an email from CW Construction. I open it up and see he just sent it to me.
From: cw@cwconstruction.com
To: SD@sdgraphic.com
Subject: Quote
Sierra,
As per our telephone conversation, here is the quote. Please let me know if you need to discuss anything further.
I’ve also attached a couple of pictures I took today of before and after.
Caleb
I open the attachment and cringe when I see how much it’s going to cost me to fix up the old house. Then I thank my grandfather for leaving me an inheritance substantial enough to cover the cost of the house and the renovations, and I’ll still have some left over. It’s a good thing my investments are paying off.
I open the pictures, and my eyes almost bug out of my head when I see how much work they did in one day. I put the phone down before getting up and heading to the kitchen, seeing the boxes that I’ve already started to pack. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.
My alarm goes off at six, but I’m already making coffee in the kitchen. The nerves in my stomach are going crazy since I know today is going to be a rough day for me. I get dressed in sweatpants and a sweater before going over to my childhood home.
Getting out and walking up the steps, I take a deep breath before I ring the doorbell. I’ve never rung the doorbell before, but walking in to me seems strange. The door is pulled open by my father, who is already dressed for the day in slacks and a button-down shirt. “Sierra,” he says, shocked, “why on earth are you ringing the doorbell?” He moves away from the door, giving me access to the house.
I step in at the same time he comes to kiss my cheek, and my mother peeks her head out from around the corner where she is in the kitchen. “Who is it?” she asks, and then her eyes light up when she sees me. “Sierra.” Her voice is filled with happiness. “I didn’t know you were coming over this morning.” She comes to me wearing her long gray cashmere robe. She opens her arms to give me a hug, and I walk over to her, hugging her, closing my eyes tight as my stomach clenches with nerves. Only when she’s let me go does she look at me. “Did you forget your key?”
“Yeah,” I lie to her, but when I look over my shoulder at my father, he puts his hands in his pockets and smiles tightly at the lie he knows I just told, but he doesn’t call me out on it.
“Come in, come in,” she invites me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and walking me more into the house. “I was just making breakfast.” She lets go of me as she walks toward the kitchen, and I follow her. “Do you want pancakes or waffles?” she asks me of my go-to breakfast when I’m at home.
“I think I’ll just have coffee,” I tell her, too nervous to eat anything. I feel like I’m going to vomit and the last thing I need is to put food in my stomach. I am so nervous, almost like I’m a kid who knows that I have a bad report card coming in and I have to break it to my parents how bad it’s going to be.