Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
He grinned and dipped his head closer. “I like the fact you are thinking about me.”
Their gazes locked and he inched nearer to her plump lips.
“If you two are finished over there, we have hungry people this morning.” Naomi’s authoritative tone snapped the moment like a frozen branch. Loud. Sudden. And no going back.
Hope sprang away from him like he’d burned her. Mitchell longed to snake his arm around her midsection and return her to where she’d been. Close enough to kiss.
And he wanted to kiss her.
“Finished.” Hope placed the knife on the board and arranged the slices she’d cut on the platter with the others.
“I’ll carry them,” he murmured as he followed suit with the fruit he’d sliced.
Lifting a tray in each hand, he didn’t miss the way her gaze snapped to his arms—again. Nor did he miss the light whimper that slipped from her mouth and hit him with the force of a wrecking ball.
Yeah, arm porn. His arms were worthy.
She gave a small nod and slipped off the stool. Mitchell followed Naomi out and knew without turning that Hope was behind him. Naomi had been cooking up a storm. There was a huge buffet line of food on two tables and he could hear the patrons talking and laughing nearby. He heard a few of the guests complaining about how hungry they were.
With a smile to Naomi, he placed the platters down per her directions and watched as Hope set down the much lighter containers of jam by the other syrups.
“Thank you both for helping.” Naomi adjusted her apron. “Did you want to grab something first?”
“I can wait,” Hope said.
“Me too. Besides, I hear some people are about ready to perish if they don’t get some of this amazing food.” He winked at Hope and wrapped his arm around her. “We’ll wait our turn.”
He guided her to the door, and she paused before they dipped back into the kitchen to walk the long way around to where the others were.
“You okay?” he murmured in her ear. Her confirmation took longer than he wanted. In the kitchen, he halted her by one of the battery-operated lanterns and tipped her face toward him. “Who changed your bandages?”
His fingertips brushed over the edges of each as he watched her face for any sign of pain.
“I did.” A smirk. “Were you wondering why they’re lopsided?”
“Not at all. Wanted to know who I should thank for taking care of you after you ran away this morning.”
Her gasp gave him what he wanted. To engage with him.
“I did not run away.”
He stepped back, no matter how hard it was for him to do so, and crossed his arms. “Sure you did.”
She narrowed her gaze at him and snorted. “I left the room. That is not running away.”
Moving his fingers like they were legs between them, he said, “Scampered away.”
“I’ll have you know, Mr. Anderson, I have never scampered a day in my life. Ever.”
God, this woman made it so easy to grin. And he wanted to. Every second he spent with her, he could feel the corners of his mouth tugging up.
“Scampered.”
Hope opened her mouth to say something else but shook her head and clamped her lips together. Yeah, that wouldn’t do. He wasn’t anywhere close to being done with bantering back and forth with Hope.
“Nothing to say?”
“We need to eat.”
“And play some games.”
“I thought you were hiding in your room to work on your computer.”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve found something far more entertaining.” A slow blink. “Besides, work will still be there later.”
She walked ahead of him toward the door. “I get the feeling that isn’t a phrase you say very often.”
“Never said it before.” He watched the hem of his shirt as it hung down mid-thigh, liking that it marked her. His.
The silence between them as they made their way to the room where people were lined up for the buffet wasn’t strained. It was comfortable. He didn’t feel the urge to fill it with words and it seemed as if Hope was perfectly content to keep to herself.
Normally, that was something he was okay with, but he craved hearing the soft, southern drawl of her voice.
When they entered the room, everyone looked at them. Did a double-take and looked again. Everyone knew.
A child broke the silence.
“Oh my God, you’re Mitchell Anderson! Daddy, do you see? It’s Mitchell Anderson.” Without waiting for his parent, the boy flew across the room and skidded to a stop before him. “Did you know you’re Mitchell Anderson?”
He smiled like he always did when in the spotlight. In his periphery, he noticed the amused tilt of Hope’s mouth. He canted his head to meet her gaze, one brow up.
She mouthed, “Did you know?”
Sure, now she’s cheeky.
Attention back on the child, he nodded. “And who are you?”