Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Whoa.” All my air whooshed out as Worth cast out a hand, floundering around until he found my arm and hauled me against him. Spooning. We were spooning, and it was every bit as glorious as I’d always imagined, his body so warm and vital against mine. I resisted the urge to pinch myself as Worth snuggled in close.
“There.” He made the happiest noise I’d heard from him yet, continuing to hold my arm tightly, like there was any danger of my escaping. Wise or not, I was going to be here for Worth, whatever it took.
Chapter Five
Worth
I wasn’t alone. That was my first conscious thought and not an entirely unwelcome one. Someone warm was pressed tightly against me as the early-morning light crept across the big, puffy bed. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d slept next to another person, and this level of cuddly coziness was a novel sensation, a far cry from post-drinking sprawls and morning-after awkwardness. No, this was…
Sweet.
As sweet as…
Sam Bookman.
That was it. I was in bed with an all-grown-up Sam Bookman in my old house, but an entirely new room. Any one of those details would have been disconcerting, but taken together, I felt like a jumble of random puzzle pieces lacking the guidance of a picture.
I didn’t know who I was supposed to be in this changed universe without the job I’d worked a decade and a half for, unable to use the degree I’d sold my inheritance for, lacking funds or viable prospects other than the pity coffee shop job Sam had offered. Changed universe, indeed. Little, pesky Sam Bookman offering me a job in a world where he owned the only place I’d ever truly considered home.
And that world was full of topsy-turvy truths I simply couldn’t dwell on right then. My mother’s case loomed large, but I’d run from the new facts for months now. Instead, I focused on Sam huffing warm, tickly breaths against the back of my neck. He smelled like warm spices and soft citrus. I stretched ever so slightly, just for the pleasure of feeling Sam’s grip on me tighten. Another few minutes to bask in these new sensations wouldn’t hurt anything.
Except maybe Sam.
Sam would get the wrong idea about me sticking around Safe Harbor. He’d had a way-too-obvious crush decades ago, and while we were both grown, I’d hate to hurt someone as nice as Sam.
Reluctantly, I separated myself from Sam, ignoring his moof noise protesting my leaving the bed. I quickly took care of necessary business in the bathroom. When I returned, the dog was curled up in the spot I’d vacated, but Sam was sitting up in bed. He stretched, revealing a strip of fuzzy reddish hair across his abdomen. Guys weren’t my usual flavor, but my dick pulsed for the first time in months and months.
“If you tell me where you keep the coffee, I’ll start some when I take Buttercup out.” I eyed the dog, who seemed totally content to snooze the morning away.
“None in the house.” Sam yawned. “I don’t drink it, so I only keep it around for guests. And sadly, I broke the glass pot for my old drip maker last time my folks came for post-church brunch.”
I blinked. “I’m not sure what’s more surprising. You cook? Like good enough to have people over? But you serve them drip coffee? And you own a coffee house but don’t drink coffee yourself?”
“Boy, that’s a lot of questions for not even seven o’clock.” He exited the bed with a groan, another clear sign that this Sam was all grown up with the aches and pains that came for all of us after thirty. “Yes, I cook. No way was my mom turning me loose without knowing the basics, and it turns out cooking is fun, not unlike owning a coffee shop. Both things bring people I like together. I don’t need to drink coffee to appreciate it.”
“Huh. I haven’t had coffee in weeks, thanks to my stomach. That and selling my espresso machine. But I can’t imagine not liking the taste. Nothing like a perfect espresso.” I made a happy noise before sighing. “Figures that the one morning my stomach feels normal, it’s not on the menu.”
“Like you just pointed out, I run an entire coffee shop. Which, as it turns out, I should stop by.” Sam held up the phone he’d snagged off the nightstand. “There’s some sort of drama with my early-morning crew who were supposed to handle opening without me. We can swing by there on the way to urgent care, which doesn’t open until eight anyway.”
“I’d be good skipping the doctor. Maybe all I needed was some decent sleep. A cup of coffee at your place, then I can be on my way.”