Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Okay.”
He stops the car then. Right in the middle of our driveway. He turns and looks at me. “Maddie, do you want to spend the night with me?”
“I…”
“Because I’d love to spend the night with you,” he says, “but you’re leaving tomorrow. I don’t want to start something that neither of us can finish.”
His words astound me.
I take a deep breath, then sigh. “I guess… I just don’t know where you’re coming from, Dave. Clearly we’re attracted to each other, and we have great chemistry between the sheets. But your family is going through some major upheaval, and I’m about to go back to college. I just don’t know where either of our heads are.”
“I feel the same way,” he says. “I have a lot of feelings for you—feelings I never thought I’d have, at least not until I was older—but I want to make sure that this is the real thing. I don’t want it to be something false, a bond that stems only from our shared trauma.”
His words have both a positive and a negative effect on me. Because in truth I agree with him. I want feelings that are real, feelings that will stand the test of time. And he’s right. We’ve both been through a lot. But we certainly had chemistry before the plane almost went down.
“I understand.”
Though, to tell the truth, a part of me doesn’t.
“I’m glad.” He starts the car again.
The bag containing the takeout from Lorenzo’s is sitting on Dave’s front stoop when we enter. He grabs it, unlocks his door with the code, and we go in.
I follow him into his kitchen, where he sets everything on the table.
“What can I do to help?” I ask.
“Not a thing. I’ve got the table set, and the wine is open, decanting.”
I look at the table. He even has glasses of ice water sitting there.
He pulls out the takeout, which includes a large pan of lasagna, a loaf of garlic bread, and Italian salad.
“Please, have a seat.”
I sit down, and he serves me a plate full of food. Once he serves himself and takes a seat, I wait.
“Go ahead,” he says.
I say a silent thank you for the food, and then I bring a forkful of salad to my mouth.
Lorenzo’s Italian food is wonderful. I don’t go to town to eat very often. My family just doesn’t have the money for those kinds of things.
“Delicious,” I say after swallowing.
“I’m glad you like Italian,” he says. “One of my favorites, and Lisa does it like nobody else. Even Aunt Marjorie says Lisa beats her with Italian food.”
“Your family’s not Italian,” I say.
“We’re not Greek either,” I say, “except for Aunt Ruby on her father’s side. But my mom can sure make a Greek feast.”
I nod. “Yeah, I remember the food at your aunt and uncle’s anniversary party. It was great.”
Then I clamp my hand over my mouth.
That party didn’t end well either. Ryan Steel was rushed to the hospital on suspicion of a heart attack. Turned out it wasn’t a heart attack, but no one really knows what happened. The Steels kept it quiet.
Callie told me it was a panic attack, but I’m sworn to secrecy, so I can’t say anything to Dave about it.
That was the beginning of what would turn out to be the big upheaval in the Steel family… And for all the citizens of Snow Creek.
We don’t talk a lot while we eat, and once I finish my rather large slice of lasagna, my belly is nice and full.
I drink the wine, which of course is way better than any of the wine my family makes. Ryan and Dale Steel are artists, whereas my father makes wine that’s accessible to the masses. Table wines that are good with everything and easy on the pocketbook.
Of course, this season he’s made no wine because of the fire.
Ugh.
Just what I don’t want to think about.
“You want any more?” Dave asks.
“God no,” I say. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“That’s a shame, because in the freezer I have some of my mom’s vanilla bourbon ice cream made with brown sugar.”
I rub my stomach. “It sounds amazing, but I can’t.”
“Okay. Maybe later.”
“Sure.”
I suppose now he’s going to try to seduce me into his bed. I’m certainly not averse to the idea. Just sitting with him, I’m already hot and horny as hell.
I’m not sure if it’s the best thing, since I’m leaving tomorrow.
But instead of rising, bringing me to my feet, and kissing me senseless, he takes my hand, brushes his lips over the back of it, and then looks me straight in the eye.
“Maddie, we need to talk.”
My heart plummets.
Here it is—the classic brush-off. It’s never a good thing when a person says those four fatal words.
“All right.” I keep my countenance balanced. No way will I let him know how disappointed I am.