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)
“Lo?”
I turn, seeing a man at the front of the line waving at me. “Luke?”
“Quick.” He ushers me to him with a frantic hand, and as soon as I make it, he swipes my lunch from my hand. “What are you drinking?”
I look back and see many people in the queue scowling at me.
“I’m holding them up, Lo,” Luke says, motioning to the menu.
“Oh,” I scuttle closer, maybe hoping for protection from the angry glares. “A latte, please. Extra shot.”
His green eyes widen somewhat. “That kind of day?”
“You mean long? Yes.”
“Mine too,” he confirms, tapping his American Express on the card reader. He hands me my drink as soon as the server slides it onto the counter and I accept with a smile, going to my bag.
“Don’t offer me any money,” he warns, collecting his own drink and my lunch.
“More compensation?” I ask dryly, taking a sip of my lovely warm coffee with extra caffeine.
He nudges me in the shoulder as we wander away. “No, I’m just buying you a sandwich.”
“And a coffee.” I raise my cup, smiling. “Thank you.”
“No sweat. You’re providing me with my daily good deeds. I can live in harmony with myself.” He motions to a table as I laugh. “Got time for a chat?”
My laughter dries a little, my head cocking. “About what?”
“I don’t know. What do friends chat about?” He sits, taking my sandwich from my hand and placing it on the table. Friends. Why does that sound so lovely?
“So we’re friends?” I ask, as if I need confirmation. And perhaps to confirm that we could be nothing more if that is where his mind might be wandering. Although, and I hate to admit it, why a handsome, successful man like Luke could be interested in me is quite laughable.
“I saved your life. That makes us friends for life.” He reaches for my arm and guides me to the chair. “Sit.”
“You also nearly took my life,” I point out, wriggling out of my coat and letting it pool on the seat around me. I realize my error in an instant when Luke doesn’t come back with some wisecrack, instead looking at me with way too much curiosity. I divert my gaze to my sandwich and start unwrapping it, avoiding his look. If he asks, I’ll just leave, and I really don’t want to leave. He makes me laugh. He’s someone nice to talk to without me worrying that he’s going to drown me in those awful looks of sympathy.
“Want to share?” he asks, pulling my worried eyes up quickly. “The sandwich.” He points to my hand, and I look down, relieved.
“I can hardly say no, since you paid for it.” I break the baguette in half and pass it over, smiling when he winks and takes a huge bite from the end. I remove the cucumber from my half and join him, though my bite is far more ladylike.
“So what do you do in that posh office of yours?” he asks, his mouth still half full.
“I’m an assistant.” I shrug, a little unimpressed with myself. “It’s not exactly the dream, but it pays the bills.”
“What’s the dream?”
What’s the dream? I had it. Then it was cruelly snatched away from me. I push my depressing thoughts to the back of my mind and engage in the normal conversation Luke is offering. “I used to own a vintage store.” I miss that store so much. I miss sorting through endless bags of people’s castoffs and discovering little treasures while Boris slept in his basket under the cash register. I miss Billy meeting me from work at six o’clock. I miss him walking me there in the mornings and getting coffee with him before he headed to his office. I miss sitting at the iron tables and chairs outside the café, even in the dead of winter, talking about what our days had in store.
“Used to?” Luke asks, before taking another bite of his baguette. Two bites and it’s nearly gone.
“It didn’t exactly provide a good income.” I avoid the wretched truth. The real truth. I didn’t need a good income at the time because Billy provided that, and he was just so happy for me to lose myself in my shop. Eventually, I would have started making a profit, my plans for my business vast and exciting. But, of course, I didn’t get to realize that dream. No dream, in fact. “So I had to get a proper job and wear boring office clothes.” I shrug and work my way through my sandwich. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s your dream?”
He pouts, looking past me for a beat. “Well, it was to start my own security firm.”
“You can tick that one off,” I say, smiling when he nods to himself. “What else?”
“I don’t know.” He frowns. “Early retirement would be nice. Travel the world, buy a nice country retreat.”