Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Maybe hell will freeze over sooner than you think,” she whispered.
I shook my head, not able to explain to her my reasons.
“I do wish you luck, Quinn.” I pulled my hand back. “Take care.”
QUINN
I slid some freshly laundered towels into the linen closet with a sigh. I walked into the kitchen, somehow the memory of finding John there a few days ago flickering through my mind. When Laura had shown me the house, I knew it was perfect for Abby and me. Small but well cared for, it had a nice yard, even a porch where I could sit and watch her play. Two bedrooms, a good-sized kitchen, and a cozy living room with an electric fireplace made it homey. The floors were hardwood and gleamed with well-worn age. The appliances were still fairly new, and the place even had a stacking washer and dryer, which was a bonus. The yard was well-kept and not overly large, so I could look after it easily. The fence was in great shape—actually, everything was.
Modest, cozy, and simple. A far cry from the huge, rambling house we left behind. The expensive cars. The complicated life I tried so hard to find my place in. The constant failure my ex liked to remind me I was—at least in his eyes.
I poured myself a small glass of wine and wandered into the living room. I sat on the sofa, running my hand along the soft fabric. No more cold leather. No sterile environment that was showroom-perfect. Instead, the furniture was homey. Not expensive, but comfortable. A rug I found at a secondhand store was warm under my feet. The chair I had bought there as well was worn but snug. Some of Abby’s toys were in the corner. I already felt more at home there than I had in my entire marriage.
I had painted the living room and the hallway, enjoying the task. The walls were a soft bisque color. I planned on using the same neutral in the kitchen, and I had a warm sage green for my room, but I would do it last.
A noise from Abby’s room caught my attention, and I went down the hall to check on her. She was asleep, the sound I heard simply a dream muttering and not an upset one. I tucked her leg in, brushing her hair back from her face. I picked up a couple of toys, placing them in the toy chest. I had painted her room first, the bright pink making her so happy. I let her pick her furniture, and the white canopy bed and dresser looked nice in the space. I’d added a fluffy rug, and she chose some frilly curtains and a bedspread in a checked pink-and-white that she loved. The room was bright, girly, and fun.
Again, a direct contrast to the bland white space she’d lived in the past few years. I was doing the opposite of everything we had known. Everything we had both hated and been forced to live with.
I bent and pressed a kiss to Abby’s head. She gave me the strength to wake up every day and move forward.
I returned to the living room, picking up my wine and sipping it. Tomorrow, I would be going to the restaurant to check on the progress there. I hoped to open in a couple of weeks if everything went according to plan. Luckily, the kitchen was usable and spotless—the last owner a local, beloved member of the community. I was reusing a lot of the things left in the kitchen. The front of the restaurant was getting fresh paint, new tables, plants, and other updates, but I was sticking to my budget.
When Cathy had told me about the opportunity, I knew I had to take it. We needed a new start. A fresh place where my ex had no influence and would never come looking for us. I loved the small town, recalling the summers spent with my grandparents. The chance to build a business that would keep me busy and use the talents I had been forced to put aside during my marriage.
The fact that I knew Preston would consider the investment foolish and running a restaurant low-class only added to the appeal. His opinion didn’t matter anymore, but I had no doubt he would find out and be scandalized. I had to admit, the thought of his reaction made me giddy. He would hate it since he could no longer order me around.
Finding this little house was the icing on the cake. I loved the brightness, with the big windows, the massive oak tree in the front yard, the peacefulness of the neighborhood, and the friendly people.
Well, mostly friendly.
John Elliott came to mind. Or Farmer John, as Abby referred to him. I thought of the man who had stepped in and saved me. His size had struck me first. He was tall, broad, and powerful, and his muscles had muscles—no doubt from the daily physical work. His blue eyes were intelligent and shrewd. Kind at times, angry in other moments. Yet, somehow in all instances, they held a hint of sadness and even a vulnerability I knew he would hate anyone to see. His hair was a light brown, the ends bleached from the sun. He was rugged and masculine, nothing about him soft.