Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“What did he say?”
“He said he slept with his door open, but that I should think hard before I did anything about it, because he was no longer in the mood to be a gentleman.”
Bianca fell back against the front door and fanned her face. “Dead. Dead.”
“I about died too. Then I raced into my room and put on the stupid pineapple pajamas I’d packed, and tiptoed across the hall.”
She laughed. “Pineapple pajamas?”
“They were all I had,” I said with a helpless shrug. “I didn’t exactly pack for a hot time.”
“I bet it was hot anyway, by the looks of those scratches.”
I nodded, my stomach cartwheeling at the memory. “It was hot. It was everything. But . . .”
“But what?”
“It wasn’t enough,” I admitted. “I want more.”
“So get yourself some more.” She laughed. “I’m sure he’s willing.”
“It’s hard for us though—his dad and my son are always around.” I told her what happened with Mr. Weaver last night.
“Oh no,” she said, dissolving into giggles. “That’s so awful. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.”
“Go ahead and laugh—we did. His poor dad didn’t realize what he’d heard. And at least we didn’t wake Elliott.” I shuddered. “That would have been worse. I feel guilty just thinking about it.”
“Stop it. So you have to sneak around a little, big deal.” She flipped a wrist. “I think that adds to the fun. And you deserve some fun, Maddie. So does Beckett. You’ve both been through a lot, you genuinely care for each other, and there’s no harm in what you’re doing. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”
“Thanks. I do feel relieved that it wasn’t awkward between us this morning. I don’t think we ruined our friendship.”
“It’s really too bad you don’t live closer,” she said with a sigh. “I could see you two being really good together.”
“I don’t know about that.” I chewed my bottom lip. “He flat out told me he doesn’t do serious relationships.”
“Why not?”
“He says he’s not good at them.”
Bianca screwed up her face. “Has he ever tried? Enzo said he hasn’t dated anyone seriously in the last few years.”
“He had a girlfriend in New York,” I said hesitantly. “But he said he always put work first, and she didn’t like that. I mean, who would?”
“But that was then, this is now.”
“I still think work comes first for him—actually I think his dad comes first now,” I said. “But after his dad, it’s the ranch.”
“Yeah. A long-distance relationship would be tough for him.” She thought for a moment and smiled devilishly. “Maybe you should move back.”
A loud knock on the door made us jump.
“What’s going on in there?” Enzo’s voice boomed.
“Don’t tell Enzo I said anything,” I whispered.
“I won’t. Pinkie swear.” She held out her pinkie to me and I hooked mine through it and squeezed.
When she pulled the door open, both Enzo and Beckett stood on the porch looking at us suspiciously. “You’ve been in here for ten minutes,” Enzo said. “How long does it take to tell her about a new kitchen layout?”
“Ten minutes,” said Bianca smoothly, heading onto the porch. “But we’re done. Come on, let’s go to the grocery store. I need a few things to make dinner. Hey, what are you guys doing later? I’m cooking tonight. Want to come over?”
“Thanks, but I can’t. I’m not sure how long my sister can stay,” said Beckett as we made our way down the porch steps. “She’s with my dad this afternoon.”
“And I’ve got Elliott,” I said. “But I appreciate the invitation.”
“Well, listen, if your sister can stay a while longer, Beckett, feel free to come over around six. Doesn’t have to be a late night.” Bianca hooked her arm through her husband’s. “Grilled peaches with burrata, arugula and pesto. Summer squash lasagna . . .”
Beckett groaned. “You’re killing me.”
“She kills me every day,” Enzo said.
I laughed and waved goodbye as he opened the passenger door for his wife, then got in on the driver’s side. “They seem so happy together,” I said, watching them drive away.
“Yeah.” But Beckett’s eyes were on me. “You ready to get out of here?”
“Definitely.”
We cleaned up and loaded the truck, then jumped into the cab. Beckett started the engine and rolled down the windows to combat the stuffy heat, but didn’t shift gears.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, glancing over at him.
“I don’t want to go home.”
“Where do you want to go?” I looked down at my filthy clothes, my dirty hands. “I need a shower before going anywhere in public. Or a jump in the lake.”
He looked over at me. “Want to go swimming?”
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure.” I checked the time on the truck’s dash. “But it’s already four. Do we have time for the beach?”
“Nope.” He threw the truck into reverse and backed up.
“Where are we going? Beckett!” I laughed, grabbing the dash as he careened out of the driveway and took off down the road, tires spitting gravel. “I don’t even have a bathing suit.”