Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Yeah.” He exhales, leaning against the counter. “Hungry?”
I scoot my chair around so I can still see him.
He’s crossed his long legs in front of him. His waist digs into the edge of the cabinet. With his contented annoyance—a look that’s wildly amusing and hot beyond measure—he’s the picture of single dad perfection.
Thank God Calista can’t see this.
“I’m always hungry,” I say.
For once in the three days I’ve known Chase Marshall, I answer his question directly. No sarcasm. No prodding. No innuendo dripping from my words. But it doesn’t matter.
Chase’s gaze heats anyway, pinning me to my seat.
My heart pounds. The room spikes ten degrees. An array of goose bumps spill across my skin in anticipation of his touch … that never comes. That can’t come. That’s not why I’m here.
Yet I’m convinced that if I stood and walked across the kitchen, Chase would have a hard time turning away. My instincts say I could kiss him—that he wants me to.
And dammit if I don’t want to.
But I can’t.
“Want to make something?” His gravelly voice prickles against my skin. “Or we could go into town and grab a sandwich. I probably need to go to the grocery store anyway. I don’t know if we have anything here.”
He’s talking about sandwiches, but I can only focus on the snack right in front of me.
His hair is tousled at the top—just needing a trim. The veins in his forearm rope around the muscle. His eyes tell me he wants to grab ahold of me and toss me against the wall.
I steady myself. We need to break this moment.
“Why don’t you show me around instead?” I say, figuring movement is the best form of defense. “We can figure out food later—or I can go shopping tomorrow while Kennedy is at school.”
His shoulders sag as if he, too, were holding his breath. “Are you sure? I can put together a ham and cheese sandwich at worst.”
“Yeah, unless you’re hungry.”
He crosses the room. “Nah, we had bacon and waffles this morning.” He disappears into the mudroom and comes back carrying my bags.
“Should I expect homemade breakfasts every weekend?”
He grins. “Ken goes with Dad for brunch on Saturdays, so I usually grab cereal or a sandwich if I’m out fucking around. But we do usually cook together on Sunday mornings.”
“You two seem close,” I say, following him into the hallway and toward the foyer.
“Who? Me and Dad?”
“No, you and Kennedy.”
He stops by the steps leading upstairs. “We are close. I think. I hope.” He looks up, giving me a front-row seat to his long eyelashes. “She wants to hang out and watch movies one day, and the next, she hates me for no apparent reason. She’s emotionally erratic, and it’s borderline abusive.”
I giggle.
“It’s not funny,” he says, shaking his head and switching his gaze to mine. “I know I’m a grown man who shouldn’t be scared of a little girl, but I’m terrified of her most days. I find myself approaching her door with a brownie as tribute.”
My giggles turn into outright laughter. “Stop it.”
“This is the living room.”
He motions toward the left before dragging his eyes away from mine like he isn’t done with that part of our conversation.
I peer into the cozy area in the front of the house. There’s a mantel over the fireplace that I overlooked yesterday. It’s dark lumber, resembling a railroad tie, and hosts a variety of picture frames in various colors.
“We live in there,” he says.
“Fitting.”
“And the dining room we never use is over there.” He tilts his head toward the other side of the foyer. “I keep thinking I ought to do something different in there. But, hell, I’m not home long enough to get involved in a huge project, though Mom keeps insisting that a day will come when I’ll need it.”
I lean against the wall, absorbing the sun's warmth from where it filters through the transom window above the door. The house is quiet, perfectly still, but I can imagine it filled with fun and laughter—the sound of big family dinners.
I only realize I’m smiling when Chase catches my attention. He watches me curiously.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
I push away from the wall and sigh. “That I agree with your mom. It needs to be a dining room.”
“Even if we never use it?”
“You will someday.”
He rolls his eyes and heads upstairs. “I’m sorry for Kennedy’s cool reception today, by the way.”
“No, she was great. I imagine it was hard for her to have another woman in her house.”
His lips twitch.
“She is the woman of the house, you know,” I say. “You might see her as a kid, and she is a child by all definitions. But in her mind, she’s a woman, and this is her house.”
“Are you telling me I’m worrying too much?”
I think about it. “No, I think you’re right to worry. I think it’s great that you worry, actually.”