Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I should have said no, but the lure of a home-cooked meal was strong. I lived on protein shakes, protein bars, and the precooked meals I had delivered when I wasn’t on the road. I’d never learned to cook and my last girlfriend had moved out over a year ago.
“Thank you,” I said, following her as she scanned the displays of fresh fruits and vegetables. “It is rare someone cooks for me.”
“I love to cook,” she said, carefully examining a bin of tomatoes.
“And I love to eat.”
“Do you like chicken and dumplings?”
I hesitated. “I…don’t know. I do not think I’ve eaten this before.”
“Oh, it’s my specialty. Comfort food.”
“Comfort food?” My English had come a long way in the last two years, but some phrases didn’t translate as well as others.
“You know…food you eat that makes you happy. Like when you’re sick and your mother makes a special soup, or something warm and filling when it’s cold outside.”
“I see.” I understood the concept but there had been no such thing growing up in Russia, especially once I started playing hockey. I ate what they put in front of me, whether it comforted me or not.
“Sawyer loves my chicken and dumplings,” she continued, putting a ten-pound bag of potatoes in the cart. “I’m trying to think of all his favorite dishes.”
“I am sure I will enjoy anything you make,” I said, watching her grab a big bag of apples. “What will you make with so many apples?”
She laughed, her sapphire eyes crinkling at the corners. “Pie, cobbler, maybe even an apple spice cake. There are so many options.”
“Apple spice…” My voice trailed off. “We do not have desserts like this in Russia.”
She bent over to scoop up a runaway orange, giving me a peek at a shapely little ass hiding beneath the nondescript pants she wore.
Shit.
I’d been doing my best not to notice her bright blue eyes.
Or the full, naturally red lips that didn’t need lipstick to stand out.
Definitely not the tits that bounced as she walked.
Nope. I wasn’t going there.
The last thing I needed was to start something with a woman who was leaving.
Even a beautiful one who’d recently become single.
I parked my SUV on the street in front of Sawyer’s townhouse and hit the button to open the hatch in the back. Between Lucy’s luggage and over four hundred dollars worth of groceries, it would take a few trips to get everything inside, so I told Lucy to go ahead while I grabbed her two suitcases.
“I’ll bring everything in,” I said, motioning toward the front door. “Do you have a key?”
“Yeah.” She pulled a small key chain out of her purse and I followed her up the walkway.
She rang the bell before putting the key in the lock and opening the door.
“Sawyer? It’s me!”
We stepped inside and I grimaced as the smell of stale beer and urine hit me. What the hell was going on in here? I’d known he was spiraling, but I hadn’t expected this level of filth.
“Jesus.” Lucy stopped so abruptly I almost ran into her.
The house looked like a tornado had plowed through it. There were half-eaten containers of food littering almost every flat surface, empty beer bottles on the floor and coffee table, and a stack of unopened mail that was at least eight or ten inches thick sat on the floor of the foyer. The TV was on, the volume at an alarming level, and I looked around for the remote as we walked into the living room.
I spotted Sawyer, passed out in the armchair by the window, and he looked even worse than the last time I’d seen him, which said something.
I turned off the TV as Lucy crossed the room and leaned over her brother, shaking his shoulder. “Sawyer! Hey, wake up.”
He started, slowly opening bloodshot eyes. He frowned for a second before sitting up. “Oh. Hey. When did you get here?” His words were slightly slurred.
“Just now.” She leaned over, giving him a one-armed hug. “I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too.” He awkwardly patted her shoulder. He hadn’t shaved in a while, and his hair looked greasy, as if it hadn’t been washed in a long time. Hell, based on the body odor I got a whiff of, he hadn’t even been showering.
She straightened up and slowly looked around, as if taking it all in. To her credit, she didn’t react, merely turned back to him. “We, uh, got groceries. Are you hungry?”
He shrugged, scratching his chin. “I could eat, I guess.”
“You want to take a shower while I put the groceries away and make dinner?”
He hesitated. “I’m kinda tired, Luce.”
“A shower will make you feel better.” She nudged him before turning to me. “Kon, would you mind getting the groceries out of the car?”
“Sure.” I turned and went outside, thinking she was stronger than a lot of women might be under the circumstances. I wasn’t sure I could have been so patient had he been my brother, but of course, we were guys so our dynamic would have been different.