Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
He takes a container out of the fridge and removes the lid. Then, as if he’s operated in my kitchen a thousand times, he shoves it in the microwave.
I don’t know what my face does, but it makes him laugh.
“What?” he asks.
“It’s just odd seeing someone in my kitchen and having them wait on me.”
“Sit down and I’ll get you a drink.”
What? I really don’t know what to say, so I sit.
The microwave dings. He takes out the container and places it in front of me. Then he busies himself with getting me a fork and a glass of tea.
“How did Parkersburg go?” he asks.
I sigh. “It actually went pretty great, all things considered. I’m glad that I went. We got a number of buses that we desperately needed for inventory. I just started the day off so wonky, and it just set a pattern. I felt like I was off all day.”
“Makes sense.” Cole sets a glass beside my plate. “But the day is over, you kicked ass, and now you can come home to a hot and not-so-homecooked meal. Then I’ll tuck you in bed.”
Why are you so great?
I look into his eyes and wish I could just pause time. This feeling is everything that I’ve ever dreamed.
Supported. Appreciated. Wanted.
This man has taken care of my son—even helped him with his homework, which I know because Ethan sent me pics of them completing it—and is now heating me up dinner.
What is this?
I hesitate, unsure how to respond. This almost doesn’t even feel real. And if it isn’t, if I’m buying into something that I’m seeing because I want or need it, it could hurt in the end.
Tread lightly . . .
Cole rests his elbows on the counter and watches me carefully. “I had a great afternoon with Ethan.”
I don’t reach for my fork.
The moon glows through the window behind Cole and illuminates him. He’s the most handsome that I’ve ever seen him in his T-shirt, sweatpants, and bare feet.
“Ethan texted me on my way home,” I say. “He had a great afternoon with you too.”
“I’m glad.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“You don’t have to thank me for being a decent human being.”
“That’s not what I was doing.”
He lifts a brow. “It is what you were doing.” He stands and runs a hand around his jaw. “Look, I know this thing between us was just something we started because we couldn’t avoid it. Right?”
I nod, unsure where this is going.
“But I think we’re both cognizant of the fact that we’ve at least, at a minimum, developed a friendship.”
I nod again. That’s all I have at the moment.
“I know it was really hard for you to call me for help today,” he says. “I can imagine that you’ve managed not to ask for help very much in your life, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that you felt comfortable enough with me to reach out today.”
My bottom lip trembles. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m so tired from the day of haggling over buses, or maybe it’s that I’m worried about Kirk’s wife, or maybe . . . maybe I’m afraid of where this conversation is going.
“And you know what?” he asks, his voice quiet. “I’m glad you did. I’m glad you reached out. Because I was having this conversation with my mother when you called, which she thinks is some kind of divine timing, by the way.” He grins. “I was telling her about how I think I’m really starting to like it here.”
It’s his grin that gives him away. It’s not on the verge of a smirk, and it’s not prefacing a joke. He’s not lining up a line to tease me either. It’s simple and hits my heart in a way that none of his other smiles ever have.
“I thought you were a California boy?” I ask.
He moves aimlessly around the kitchen. It’s not really a pace but more of a thoughtful kind of way.
“Do you know what I love most about baseball?” he asks.
Random. “No.”
“Camaraderie. The teamwork. The way being a part of the team gives you a purpose and the satisfaction of working together toward a common goal.”
“Makes sense,” I say, although I’m struggling to follow along.
Cole stops moving. “That was the thing that I was missing ever since I retired. I wasn’t sure that I would ever find that again.”
His gaze penetrates mine. The intensity makes me shiver.
I grip the side of my chair and watch him. Breathing is a struggle. Surely he’s not going to tell me that he’s going to stay here. If he does, what does that mean?
I want to close my eyes and whisper a prayer that this is going the way I think it might. But I’m afraid to do either one—close my eyes or hope that hard. If I blink, this might prove to be a dream.