Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“I mean it’s cold out, but not like refrigerator cold out, so the chances of you getting an upset stomach from old, not properly stored cheese or something much worse like an allergic reaction or even hospitalization if you have a compromised immune system are still pretty high.”
His face instantly twitches in horror.
“Sorry,” my sheepish apology is given on an embarrassed cringe, “I swear, I wasn’t trying to like food shock you into fearing cheddar. It’s just my mom’s a doctor, and sometimes I unconsciously find myself word vomiting what she has word vomited at me to unsuspecting strangers who didn’t want the word vomit any more than I did, and as I keep saying the actual word vomit I realize that’s disgusting and should probably stop before I make one of us physically vomit.”
The faintest flicker of a smirk unexpectedly occurs.
Ohmygod, did he just smile at me?! Did I just make someone besides a bunch of preschoolers smile?!
“Want some pizza instead?”
The male carefully lowers the lid to my trashcan with his other hand, eyes never leaving mine.
“It’s um…pepperoni, sausage and mushroom.”
He smoothly slides the recovered fruits into his backpack while continuing to keep his gaze locked on me.
“Thin crust because it’s less bread but between you and me, I really like it because I feel it holds the pizza sauce better versus making it too soggy. Like who in their right mind wants to eat tomato soup bread?”
Another small smile is sparked as he attempts to warm up his hands by cupping them over his mouth and blowing big breaths of hot air.
“It’s from that little place on the corner,” I thoughtlessly keep talking, body unconsciously gravitating closer to him. “The one that’s at the next light up by the entrance to the Rose Patch subdivision.” Treating this like it’s an everyday conversation with a run of the mill random new neighbor effortlessly continues. “You know where I’m talking about? They have that godawful sign that looks like it was designed by a homecoming committee that couldn’t pick a direction.”
This time I receive a snicker.
It’s light.
Airy.
Almost missed around the howling wind, but it’s heard.
And it’s adored.
And it’s making my heart race faster than it ever has before.
What on earth is going on with me?! Did I do tequila shots with my dad and totally forget about it?! Why am I not even remotely afraid of this man? Oh, and why can’t I stop talking like someone put fresh batteries in me?!
“The pizza’s only a couple days old.” My movements come to an eventual stop with me closer to him than I anticipated. “And it was in the fridge the whole time. Okay, not the whole time because I did eat it when it was hot, and then had to let it properly cool before Tetrising it into my fridge, but other than that,” the grin on my face I didn’t realize I had gets wider, “it was appropriately stored.” Extending the box his direction, I playfully add, “On top of an unopened container of liquid egg whites and bag of fresh spinach I’m totally gonna eat.”
He quirks a challenging eyebrow at the same time he lowers his empty hands.
“Probably gonna eat,” I correct in a giggled fluster.
The look remains.
“Possibly?” More sniggers of frustration escape prior to me shaking my head. “Ugh. Fine. I don’t really like spinach, but I force myself to eat it. My mother on the other hand, likes the shit so much, she probably would’ve named me Popeye had I been born a boy instead of a bubbly, babbling, baby girl.”
He unleashes a chuckle that’s attached to a full-fledged grin that causes my knees to wobble.
Gah…
What a sound.
What a beautiful, beautiful sound.
His face tips a little forward during the laugh allowing the moonlight to illuminate green eyes so gorgeous that I momentarily forget how to breathe.
The whole purpose of breathing.
Is it so that I can stay conscious just to stare into them because then that makes total sense to me. Hm? Am I really sounding that crazy again? Well, be a good person, and shout out red flags you see. From him, not me. I’ve got me covered. I’m very aware of why Detective Inspector G. Lestrade would be knocking on my door first thing in the morning with a shit ton of questions.
“Go on,” I sweetly insist, item shoved his direction further. “Take it.”
His gaze sweeps the box for what I imagine to be clues of tampering or possibly poisoning. If it weren’t for the fact that I can physically see his hunger increasing with every blink, I might be worried that this was a mistake.
That I should’ve kept my distance.
Let him continue to scramble to find something decent to eat out of my trashcan.
But I know this was the right call.
Is the right call.
He’s starving, and there’s no reason I have to let him.