Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Millie was right—her car was a mess. It looked like she’d emptied the contents of her closet into the back seat. And when I opened the trunk to stow our bags, it looked like she’d hit a rummage sale with a wad of cash. “Jesus,” I said. “Is that an air fryer?”
“I told you.” She sneezed again and dug a tissue from her purse.
I made some room and stuck our bags in there, pulling a sweatshirt from mine that she could use as a pillow. Then I opened the passenger door for her. “Get in.”
She was too sick to argue.
I tipped the valet and got behind the wheel, asking her for her address.
“I’ll just give you directions,” she said, stifling a yawn. “You gotta get on I-90.”
“You’re going to sleep,” I told her, handing her my phone. “Just type your address in here first.”
She sighed but did as I asked, then folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to sleep. I don’t get enough time with you as it is.”
But we weren’t even out of Illinois before she was out like a light, her seat tipped back, her head resting on my balled-up sweatshirt. I smiled and kept the radio volume low, making sure not to change lanes too abruptly or speed up aggressively. I wasn’t in a rush.
The roads were decent, but it still took just over five hours to get to Millie’s house. She woke up as I was pulling into her garage.
“We’re home already?” She rubbed her face and blinked in disbelief.
“Yes. You slept the entire way home. Good job.”
“I’m sorry.” She reached over and rubbed my leg. “Thanks for driving me.”
“You’re welcome. No apology necessary. I did not feel right about putting you behind the wheel.”
We hurried from the garage into the house through the back door, which led into her kitchen. Her cats came over to greet her, and she bent down to pet them. “Hello, my loves. Did you miss me?”
“Does someone feed them for you while you’re gone?” I asked.
“Yes. My sister Winnie. She brings Dex’s daughters with her.”
I nodded. By now I knew the who’s who of Cloverleigh Farms by heart. My stomach growled loudly, frightening her cats, who ran for cover.
Millie straightened up and came over to me, rubbing my belly. “You poor thing, you drove straight through without eating. Let me feed you.” She went over to the fridge and opened it.
I pushed it closed. “No. You are going straight to bed.”
She arched a brow. “Trying to get me in bed already?” Then she was seized by a sneezing fit.
Spying a box of tissues on the counter, I brought it over to her. “Believe it or not, no. I’m not thinking about sex right now.”
She blew her nose and tossed the tissue in the trash. “I can believe it. I am not sexy at the moment.”
“Upstairs. Now.” I took her by the shoulders and steered her from the kitchen, through the center hallway, up the stairs, and into her bedroom. Then I gently sat her at the foot of the bed and knelt down on the rug. Untying her boots, I pulled them off her feet, peeled off her socks, and stood up again. “Are you keeping those clothes on?”
She shook her head. “I want pajamas.”
“Where are they?”
“Second drawer on the left.”
I dug in the drawer and pulled out something soft and white. “This?”
“That works.” She sneezed again. “And the plaid flannel pants.”
Bringing the items to her, I helped her out of her jeans, sweater and bra, and into the pajamas without even laying a hand on her. Proud of myself, I turned back the covers on her bed and watched her crawl in. “Are you hungry?” I asked, pulling the blankets up to her waist.
She nodded. “Yes. And thirsty.”
“Water or tea?”
“Tea. It’s in the pantry. With honey, please.”
“You got it. What sounds good to eat? Don’t worry, I’m not going to cook. I’ll order in.”
She laughed, which turned into a cough, and settled back on the pillow. “You can choose. I don’t think I can taste anything anyway.”
“Okay. I’ll be back in a minute with tea.”
Down in the kitchen, I noticed a kettle on the stove—the old-fashioned kind—which made me smile. I filled it with water, turned on the gas beneath it, and hunted in the pantry for tea. Her cats watched me suspiciously.
While I waited for the water to boil, I ordered some Italian food for delivery. A few minutes later, I brought her a glass of ice water and a mug of hot tea with honey, and set it on her nightstand.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m sorry to make you go down again, but can you also bring up that box of tissues?”
“Of course.” I hustled back to the kitchen, snatched the box off the counter, and returned to her room, setting it on the nightstand.