Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
The knots in my stomach tighten.
One point for Grady . . .
“Layla?” he asks.
“Yes. Hi!” Oh jeez, my voice is way too high pitched. I was calmer and more comfortable with Hayes when he and I first met, but then again, he was more or less rescuing me. I didn’t have time to be nervous when pumpkins and hay were being blown all over the hotel parking lot.
“Nice to finally meet you,” he says, and the way he holds out the flowers makes my chest go tight. Not roses, not a store bouquet. Just sunflowers and greenery, wrapped in paper from the farmers’ market.
We’re off to a good start.
“Wow, thank you.” I take them, and let myself sneak a peek at him while I lift the flowers to my nose. “This is thoughtful of you.”
Grady is better looking in person than he is online; he is no doubt going to be a hot commodity in Star Lake if he and I don’t have chemistry.
I watch him go to the counter to order our drinks: broad shoulders, easy stride, nice ass. Coach myself to breathe, be present, and for the love of God, stop grading him against a man who lives in another time zone!
When he’s seated across from me, Grady smiles. “So. Come here often?”
I smile back. “Actually, I do—almost every morning. So your odds of seeing me regularly are high, unless you don’t plan on coming into town.”
“Do you live in town?”
I nod. “I do. What about you?”
“Bought a cottage about eight miles away? Closer to the sandbar by Dunham’s Landing.” Dunham’s Landing is the marina where most of the tourists rent Jet Skis and boats, and is situated halfway around the lake toward the other side. He laughs. “Listen to me, trying to sound like a local.”
“You’re getting the hang of it.”
“I’ve already established that the food truck by the marina—the smash burgers—are my new favorite thing.”
“Wally’s.” I nod, very familiar. “Those can be dangerous.”
We settle in. The café hums—milk steaming, spoons knocking. His attention stays on me, not the room, not his phone. The easy back-and-forth calms my nerves, and I realize I like this version of me. She’s the type of girl who enjoys having a bouquet of sunflowers on her table for no reason.
My phone buzzes against my thigh.
I don’t look.
“Am I your first date since moving here?” I ask.
Grady doesn’t even blush at the question. “Nope.” He takes a sip from his coffee. “Had one last week with a woman named Stella.”
I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from blurting out, Oh my God, that’s my best friend Faith’s ex-sister-in-law who cheated on her husband, Ethan!
But I don’t. I manage to keep it all inside.
He smiles. “Date was fine. We didn’t click.”
Yeah—’cause she’s a Cheater! I want to tell him, but again: I keep that shit inside.
“How about you?” he asks. “Am I your first?”
“My first coffee?” I tease. “Today, yes. First date recently? Yes and no.”
Grady tilts his head. “Yes and no? What does that mean?”
“It means . . . I met someone and we hung out, but he’s too far for it to work out.”
“You mean he was a tourist?”
“He . . .” Let’s see, how do I put this? “Was in town for the fall festival, which I’m sure you heard about. And since he’s from Arizona, it was never going to work.”
My date goes quiet for a few moments, and I can see the wheels turning in his brain. “Are you talking about Hayes Fielder?”
Crap. Was that too obvious?
“He and I are just friends.”
“Friends,” he repeats, brows furrowing. “The guy who had people lined up for an hour to take pictures with him, who played in the Super Bowl last year, and who made half the town swoon? That guy?”
Hayes played in the Super Bowl last year? How did I not know that?
Teasingly, I give a little eye roll. “He did not make half the town swoon.”
Grady disagrees. “Men and women drop their shorts for NFL players.” He lets out a low whistle. “If that’s my competition—even as a friend—it sounds like I need to show up with my A game.”
I toy with the handle of my coffee mug, laughing it off. “Competition implies there’s a game.” I scoff, though my cheeks warm. “Grady, please do not compare yourself to Hayes Fielder.” The fact that I’m even uttering that sentence is bonkers to me.
“Uh, correction: Super Bowl Hayes Fielder.” He tips his head, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “Tell me the truth: Are you secretly into athletes? Is that your thing?”
My laugh bursts out, too loud for the quiet café, and several heads turn. “No! That’s not a thing.”
“Good.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping just enough to make my stomach flip. “Because I don’t plan on being the guy who lost out to Hayes Fielder.”