Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
I give myself a little shake and look back down at my phone, typing the first thing that comes to mind. It’s best not to overthink stuff like this, right?
Anyway, it’s okay if you still need space. I don’t blame you. If you reach out and I’m radio silent, just know it’s because I’m literally in the middle of nowhere, haha.
Sent.
There. The important people in my life know where I am. Time to shop.
There’s not a lot of choice in the small grocery store, but I make do. I’ve thought ahead for a few meals so Nate and I aren’t eating scraps over the next couple of days. His fridge was packed, but upon closer inspection it was a bunch of junk that needed to be thrown out: old jam, a jar with one olive, that kind of thing.
There’s a man positioned behind the counter in the shop watching television. When he sees me approach with my full basket, he stands up off his stool and waves me over. He’s short and rotund with ruddy cheeks and a white mustache that matches his bushy brows.
“Alright?” he asks me with a thick British accent.
I assume he’s asking how I’m doing, so I smile. “Good, yeah, what about you?”
“Aye, not bad,” he says while starting to ring up my items. “I’m not too chuffed about all the snow we’ve been getting though. Was hoping for a mild winter.”
I look back outside to see the sun that peeked out while we were driving seems to have disappeared completely behind the dark clouds.
“From the States?” he asks me when I turn back toward him.
I nod. “Just arrived.”
“Knackered after the long journey?”
“No, not really.”
It’s surprising I don’t feel more tired considering how little sleep I’ve had over the last forty-eight hours.
“Where are you staying? Got family in the area?”
“No, I wish. It’s a beautiful town. I’m here for work.”
This makes him raise his brows. “Are ya? Anthony mentioned bringing someone in for marketing at Westwood. Thought it’d take him longer to find someone.”
“No, not Anthony. Um, Nathaniel? Not sure—”
He laughs with delight. “Nathaniel Foster?”
I nod, smiling along only because his grin is so contagious.
“Didn’t know he was hiring anyone. What’s he need with an employee?”
“Oh—”
I suddenly realize it might have served me better to just keep my big mouth shut. I don’t know what Nate feels comfortable sharing, and he clearly values his privacy. No one hunkers down in a faraway cottage in the English countryside if they want their business shared with everybody.
“Nothing really. Paperwork.”
That’s the ultra-clever lie I come up with just as the door chimes and we both turn to see Nate tapping the snow off his boots before making his way inside. His tan cheeks are a little rosy. His usually unruly hair is hidden under a forest green beanie. Stick him with a golden retriever and a wife in coordinating tartan and he’d be the centerpiece of a J.Crew ad.
His handsomeness only seems to be growing on me. I’ve been around him now for almost a full day and I still blush and look away, back to the man ringing up my groceries. He’s been watching me this whole time, and now his eyes narrow slightly at the corners with a mischievous glint. Oh god.
“Got everything you need?” Nate asks me as he approaches.
“Just about.”
The shopkeeper finishes ringing me up, and then I look at the total: 170 pounds. Yikes. The trouble with small specialty stores like this is that you end up paying for convenience.
“Let me cover it,” Nate says, reaching for his wallet.
I immediately retrain my face, hoping I wasn’t giving anything away.
I’m not poor; I’m just trying to be sensible about my money. My parents helped with college, which I’m hugely appreciative of, but grad school was on me. With mounting school loans, I sure wish newly hired developmental editors were paid a little better. I don’t complain about it though, especially to my family or Andrew. They’d love to remind me of the error of my ways. If only I’d listened to them I wouldn’t be wincing at having to pay for my grocery bill.
“I’ve got it,” I tell him with a forced smile, and then I hand my card over to the man behind the counter before Nate can protest.
“Aye up,” the man says to Nate. “Need anything?”
“I’m all set.”
When I start to collect my bags, Nate beats me to it. “Let’s go. Thanks, Martin.”
“I can get those,” I tell him, hurrying behind him. With the height he has on me, when he really gets going, I can barely keep up.
Just as we cross the threshold of the shop, Nate stops short, and I collide with his back, which feels like what I imagine it’s like to smash your face into a slab of concrete.
“Sorry,” Nate and I say in tandem. Then I spot a brunette woman just on the other side of him—the reason for his abrupt stop.