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 always bring my clothes into the bathroom with me so I can change in there after I shower. Maybe he forgot to bring his clothes with him this time… Maybe this is his cottage and he can do whatever the hell he wants… Maybe I should stop peeking at him through my fingers…
Nate doesn’t say a word as he walks past. To him, this is nothing.
His door opens and closes, and I’m left pressed against the wall in the hallway, trying to catch my breath. I can see my chest rising and falling, quickly. My heart thinks I’m running a marathon.
I look up to the ceiling and force a deep, yoga-inspired inhale. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Then I shake it off and head downstairs. I refuse to let him affect me like this. He is just a man and I’m just a woman. And so what if I’m still picturing him in there, whipping that towel off and…
Agh!
I take the stairs two at a time like if I flee fast enough, I’ll be able to shake free of my feelings and leave them up in that hallway never to be felt again. Downstairs, there’s an old English sheepdog lying in front of the fireplace, his face nearly lost beneath a heavy coat of white and gray fur. When he sees me coming down the stairs, his tail starts to wag with excitement, thumping against the floor like a drum.
A little squeal of excitement erupts out of me. This must be the dog Nate talked about, the one who comes to visit every now and then.
“Oh hi, big guy!”
He’s too old to get up with ease, so I go to him, crouching down so I can rub his soft head and ears. Oh, he’s so warm. He’s been getting toasty by the fire for a while it seems. Did Nate let him in this morning or last night? I ask him his name and where he’s from. He responds by licking my hand and then my cheek.
“Nate warned me about the animals, but I didn’t think I’d get so lucky to be greeted by you this morning, you gorgeous man.”
“Who are you talking to?”
I look over my shoulder to see the other gorgeous man just as he steps off the last stair. Today, he’s going to torture me in a cream cable knit sweater and navy pants. His hair is damp and messy.
“You need a haircut,” I tell him before turning back to give the dog my full attention. He’s such a sweet thing, turning over onto his back so I’ll rub his chest and belly.
“I know,” Nate replies. “Want to give me one?”
I sputter out a reply. “What? No way. I’d botch it.”
“No, you won’t. Come on. All you have to do is trim it up a bit. I have a good pair of scissors around here somewhere.”
I whip around to admonish him. “Nate.”
He doesn’t even look at me as he gets his coffee. “The nearest barber is in Kendal, and I’m not driving all the way there for a haircut. So if you won’t help me out, I’m just going to shave it.”
Dear god no. All that gorgeous brown hair, slightly curled and boyish—I’d have a heart attack if he took it all off.
He starts opening drawers in the kitchen. “I would have already found the scissors if you hadn’t moved things around.”
“Need I remind you about the moldy lemon? The scissors are now all grouped together in that drawer there.”
He follows my finger and yanks the drawer open, immediately finding what he’s looking for. Imagine that.
He waves them in the air. “Hop to it.”
“Now? I haven’t even had my coffee.”
“Good, your hands will be steadier.”
From upstairs, Nate grabs a towel and a black comb. Then he takes a seat in one of the kitchen chairs, waiting for me. When I don’t budge, he lifts an eyebrow, taunting me. I push to stand, promising Dog I’ll be back for more pets in a bit. He flops back down on the ground, happy to stay right where he is in front of the fire.
“I really shouldn’t do this,” I tell Nate.
I’ve never cut a man’s hair before. Andrew would never, ever let me get near his head with a pair of scissors. Every three weeks, he goes to a men’s salon in Manhattan and spends upwards of $100 on a cut he’s sported the entirety of our relationship. He likes it trimmed neat and short, parted on the right side, held in place with pomade.
I don’t mind that Andrew’s a little vain about his looks. In his job, it’s expected. But something tells me Nate would balk at the idea of spending that kind of money on a haircut. He holds out the scissors for me to take when I get near him.