Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Allergy meds,” I say simply, and when she looks up at me in surprise, I raise an eyebrow. “They help, you know.”
“Yeah, I’ll pick some up on my way home.” She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and returns to the cash register. “Now, what can I get you? Did you like the muffins the other day?”
“Yeah.” The kids thought they’d died and gone to heaven when they got into my SUV and I passed them each one. “What do you have left?”
“Let’s see.” She bites her lip and studies the glass case. “We have some chocolate chip cookies and a huckleberry Danish.”
“I’ll take it all,” I reply. “And a coffee. Black.”
She nods, tapping my order on her screen, then turns it to me so I can tap my card while she fills the order.
I like to watch her bounce around back there. She’s cheerful and even hums while she works. Her movements are efficient and graceful.
Hell, she’s sexy as fuck.
Not that I have time to think about sexy women, even someone as interesting as this one. She reminds me of the seven dwarfs that Holly loves to watch so much.
I’ve seen her happy, which is most days. In the beginning, she was bashful. Then one day, I came in, and she was practically asleep on her feet.
And today, she’s sneezy.
Obviously, I watch too much TV with my five-year-old daughter.
She crosses to pass me the bag of cookies before pouring my coffee. But when she turns to hand me the hot brew, she sneezes, and a bit of the coffee lands on my hand, scalding me.
“Holy shit, I’m so sorry.” She rushes to grab an ice cube and grabs my hand, placing the ice cube on the small burn. “This should soothe it.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s hot,” she retorts. “I don’t want you to burn.”
“Honest, it’s fine,” I repeat and wipe the coffee—and melted ice—with a napkin. “There isn’t even a mark.”
“Okay.” She blows out a breath of relief and then smiles at me. “I hope you have a good day.”
“Thanks, Doc.” It just slips out, but I can’t say that I’m sorry. Especially when she looks back at me with a frown.
“Huh?”
“Like the dwarf. Doc. You’ve been happy and sneezy and even dopey that day you said you had a blonde moment. Then you tended to my burn.”
Now those green eyes narrow on me. “So, that would make you Grumpy.”
I can’t stop the bark of laughter at that, and when she smiles, it makes my blood hum in a way that it hasn’t in years.
“Wow, you can smile. And apparently talk, since this is the most you’ve said to me in the four months that I’ve worked here.”
She sets the coffee in front of me.
“Guess so.” I take a sip and turn to leave. “See you around, Doc.”
Before the door closes behind me, I hear her say, “Peace out, Grumpy.”
Satisfied that that interaction went well, I get into my SUV and drive over to the elementary school, snagging a parking spot in line. I learned early on that if I want a good spot at pickup, I have to get here early.
While I wait, I drink my coffee and catch up on emails, check beef prices, and contact vendors. I actually get a lot of office work done from the driver’s seat in the pickup line at school.
And today, I munch on a Danish while I do it.
Before long, I hear the bell ring, and kids almost immediately come rushing out the doors of the small elementary school. My kids rush to the car, hand in hand, with smiles on their little faces.
God, I fucking love them.
“Hey, Dad,” Johnny says as he jumps into the back seat and scoots over to make room for his sister.
“Hi, Daddy,” Holly echoes.
“Hi, guys. Did you have a good day?”
“Yeah, but I have a project due tomorrow. I forgot to tell you,” Johnny says as I pass them cookies from the café. “Yay, chocolate chip!”
“What kind of project?” I ask as I wait my turn to pull out into traffic.
“I have to make a poster all about me,” he continues, licking chocolate off his fingers. “You know, just use some pictures and stuff. It’ll be easy.”
“Sure, except we don’t have any of the supplies at home,” I mutter and pull away from the school, headed for the nearest craft supply store. “You really need to tell me about these things, buddy.”
“You got an email from Mrs. Holt,” he says with a shrug, and I mentally sigh. I likely did but didn’t pay attention to it.
Jesus, I’m tired.
By the time we choose materials for Johnny’s project and get back out to the ranch, it’s dinnertime. Thankfully, my mom has a pot of stew on the stove, waiting for us when we walk in.
“There’s bread cooling on a rack, as well,” she says and kisses my cheek. “I have to go. I have a book club meeting in just a little bit.”