Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
“Hey.” The stranger calling after me only makes me pick up speed. “Hey, wait a minute.”
I dash onto the pavement, tugging Boris along, not prepared to be yelled at by the rankled driver. “I said I’m sorry,” I sob, as I rush away. My path is suddenly blocked by the tall frame of a man, my feet skidding to a stop before I crash into his chest.
“Don’t run away,” he says, his strong London accent soft but firm. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, refusing to look up at him, instead focusing on his expensive-looking gray-suited chest.
“Well, I’m pretty shaken up, even if you’re pretending not to be.” He laughs lightly, nervously, a low, smooth laugh that lifts my eyes to his. “And you’re not pretending very well, just for the record.” He reaches forward and wraps his hand around my upper arm, squeezing gently. “You’re shaking.” He hunkers down, concern drenching his face, which I inappropriately register is very handsome. Classically so, with a strong jaw full of scruff and big green eyes.
I remove myself from his hold. “I’m sorry,” I repeat, struggling to find any other words.
“I heard you the first time.”
I glance back up at him, noting his expression is a mixture of curiosity and concern. Then I feel the tears that have been building in my eyes roll free and tumble down my cheeks. I quickly scrub them away as he rakes a hand through his neatly cut dark hair. “Well, this is new.” He almost laughs. “Women usually smile suggestively at me, not cry in my face.”
“Sorry,” I whisper once more, totally bypassing what I’m thinking is his attempt to lighten the situation.
“Will you please stop apologizing?” Now he sounds slightly mad. “Tell me you didn’t purposely step into the road.”
“No,” I blurt, unashamedly outraged by his question.
“No, you won’t tell me, or no, you didn’t intentionally step into the road?”
“I didn’t intentionally step into the road.” It’s the truth. I didn’t. I did, however, intentionally stay there waiting for him to run me over and take me away from this godforsaken life. But he doesn’t need to know that. “I was shocked. Couldn’t move.”
“Then it’s a good job I’m a great driver, isn’t it?” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Or you and your furry little friend here would be toast.”
I’d laugh at his continued attempt to make light of this, but his reference to Boris brings on another wave of guilt. And yet more tears. Tears I don’t want him to see. So I skirt past his tall body and hurry away, refusing to look back, and refusing to acknowledge that I very nearly let myself smile at the stranger’s quick wit. I have nothing to smile about.
I only make it a few wobbly paces when my arm is yanked back, and annoyed that he is yet again hampering my escape, I swing around, ready to let out the building emotion and yell at him. But my rant is sucked back as I realize what’s actually pulled me to a stop. It isn’t the man who very nearly flattened me. It’s Boris. His body is sprawled across the pavement on his side, his eyes closed. “Oh my God.” I drop his lead and drop to the ground, my hands reaching and retracting constantly, unsure whether I should touch him. “Boris?” His little chest is pulsing wildly, up and down at a rapid rate. “Boris.” Looking up, I see the stranger slowly approaching, his face a picture of concern. “Help, please,” I beg.
He crouches down next to me, looking Boris over. “Has he been unwell?”
“No.” I stroke his head, frantically trying to figure out what I need to do. I’m drawing a blank. “He’s getting on a little.”
“I don’t think this is a case of old bones, darling.” He looks across at me, his lips straight as he searches my distraught face. “Do you know where the nearest vet is?”
“It’s out of hours. Our regular vet is closed.”
“I’ll google it.” He pulls an iPhone out and quickly types in something. “A mile.” Slipping his mobile back into his inside pocket, he reaches forward and scoops Boris into his arms.
I quickly stand. “What are you doing?”
He strides toward his car, looking back at me. “Helping you.”
“There’s no need. I can get there myself.” I don’t know why I’m being difficult about this, especially since my beloved Boris’s life is at stake. Just let him take us. Let him help.
“It’s a twenty-minute walk, and that’s without carrying a dog. It’s a five-minute drive.” He stops at his car, which is still abandoned in the road, nodding at the passenger door. “Get in.”
My feet are taking me to his car without any more hesitation, my focus set on Boris. I open the door and slide in, and then he slips Boris onto my lap. The negotiation of my dog’s body in his arms brings his face very close to mine, and I get a waft of his aftershave. It’s nice. Fresh and crisp. Alive. “Got him?” he asks.