Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
“Cute bench, cute cubbies, and functional hooks.” She points to the door on the other end of the closet. “Does that door go to the garage?”
“Yep, with the garage on that side, I didn’t like the idea of a door leading straight into the living room,” I tell her.
“Did this place always have a garage?” she asks. “Thought I remembered Farmer Faulkner always parking his truck next to his tractor in the nicer weather?”
“You’re right. Gramps had it put on just a couple years before he died. He finally got sick of the winters.”
She closes the door and steps into the living room.
“The kitchen isn’t done yet,” I warn her, pointing out the obvious on the far side of the room. “Still have to paint the cabinets and finish off the island.”
She’s staring with her back to me, transfixed like she’s imagining what it’d be like to live here.
Fuck.
Not something she needs to imagine.
Definitely not something I need to think of her thinkin’.
“It’s an awesome start,” she says softly, walking in to explore. “I love the copper farm sink. What’s up with the island, though? The top looks new, but the rest...it’s almost like an old workbench.”
I lean against the top of it, smiling at the curiosity dancing across her face.
“Because it is. It was my grandpa’s. I took it out of the shop, jacked it up a few inches, sanded it down, and put on the granite countertop. It’ll be painted charcoal grey, along with the cupboards, once I’m through.”
“Wow,” she mouths, letting her fingers flutter below her chin. “That’s so sweet. I’m glad you found a way to honor his memory.”
I nod, then quickly change the subject. “Ridge’s wife, Grace, helped me pick the colors. It’s what she does, makes shit pretty for a living. You’ll have to meet her if you’re around these parts long enough.”
“I’d like that,” Tory says, flashing me World Ending Smile number one hundred. “You know how stubborn Granny gets, but maybe I could sweet-talk her into sprucing up a few things.”
“Your funeral, lady,” I say, completely deadpan.
Of course she laughs, wrinkling her nose.
And of course I’m about to kick my own ass for ever thinking bringing Tory Three Names home would make this weird thing between us easier, less tense, more platonic.
Crossing the kitchen, I lead her down the hall that stretches to the back of the house.
“Now for the less glamorous part. The laundry room’s back here.”
“Hey, is that a sliding barn door?” She rushes right past me to the door that was a royal pain to hang all by my lonesome. “Did you take a survey of dream homes and put every element in here, or what?”
I watch, dumbfounded, as she slides open the door like it’s the greatest game in the world. Then she somehow sees past the appliance boxes sitting there.
“What the...I thought you said it was barely finished? I see tiled floors, a full sink, loads of cupboards and space. You really know your stuff, Quinn Faulkner,” she says with an accusing laugh, turning to face me again.
“Yeah, well, it ain’t finished,” I grumble again, ignoring the awkward heat against my face. “I don’t brag about anything till the job’s done.”
She laughs again. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. This place will sell in a heartbeat! Or if you decided to settle in for a while—”
“Selling. That’s the goal.” I cut her off, unsure what my endgame really is.
I plod over to the boxes and slap the top of one. “Washer here. Dryer there. Both good Bosch models.”
“Don’t tell me they’re white.” She flinches slightly and scrunches up her face. “All the character in this room deserves color.”
“Nope.” I grab a box cutter and slice open a box. “Royal blue. Custom order.”
I stiffen as Tory applauds, a goofy grin plastered on her face.
“Glad to have your approval.”
“Sorry. I mean, white would be fine, but the rest of the place just screams unique. I know you’re not trying to get featured on a home shopping show or whatever but...yes. Just yes.”
My dick twitches at the way she breathes it out.
“Come again?” I ask.
“That blue shade is a dream. That’s all.” She pats her face, mock-slapping herself awake again. “Sorry, Quinn. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I never usually get this excited over appliances.”
Neither do I.
And I normally don’t get hard enough to drive nails thanks to a strange woman in my house, either.
I’m glad I took Grace’s advice, though. When she suggested I order a colorful set, I thought she was going overboard, but seeing Tory’s reaction...
Shit.
I’ll either be thanking her or cursing the day I enlisted her help.
“Well, we’d better get started. I know you didn’t just bring me here to drool over the place,” Tory says glumly, shrugging like I’ve been the one holding her back from the grind ahead.