Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
‘Hi, Hannah,’ Ryan says, and I hear his boots hitting the floor, coming closer. It prompts me to look up, my eyes dragging over his jeans and T-shirt.
‘Hi,’ I murmur, stopping at his neck and the messy dark stubble coating it. ‘Ryan, this is Alex,’ I say, a little dazed. ‘Alex, this is—’ My brain spasms. ‘Wait, what?’ I crack my neck as I look up at him, now only a few feet away. ‘Did she call you Dad?’
Ryan’s smile is small and awkward. ‘That’s me.’ He looks to his . . . daughter? ‘You’re in trouble, Cabbage.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ She jumps down off the stool and strolls casually over to Ryan, craning her neck back to look up at him. ‘You know Hannah?’
His eyes flick to mine quickly before returning to his daughter. ‘We’ve met.’
‘But when I asked about the new art shop in town, you didn’t know about it.’
Ryan’s cheeks flush, his jaw tightens, and he clears his throat. ‘Like I said, we’ve met. Not talked.’ He shifts in his boots, looking anywhere around my shop except at me. ‘We’d better get going. I need to have my truck looked at.’
‘But I’m painting,’ Alex whines, taking herself back to the stool and sitting down, collecting her brush. My eyes follow her and watch as she dips the paint and starts flicking again. ‘You do what you’ve got to do and collect me on the way back.’
‘That’s not a good idea.’ He goes to her and lifts her from the stool, setting her gently on her feet.
‘Why?’
‘Because I need your help.’
‘To have your truck looked at?’
My eyes travel back and forth between them, listening as they argue about whether Alex is going with Ryan or not. It makes me smile as I take myself to the counter and continue to observe her standing her ground against her six-foot-God-knows-how-tall father.
‘You’re coming,’ Ryan grates, clearly losing his patience as I rest my elbows on the countertop and my chin in my hands. ‘I’ve not seen you in two months.’
‘If you hadn’t run down a weasel, your truck would be fine.’
My chin slips off my hand. ‘Weasel?’ I blurt, glaring at him. His big body stills, and he’s suddenly quiet, obviously stuck for any answer for his daughter and me. A bloody weasel? The nerve. ‘Like a rat-like creature?’ I ask, joining Alex and sitting down again.
‘Don’t worry, the poor thing wasn’t hurt,’ Alex pipes in next to me, keeping her attention on the paint she’s flicking. ‘Dad swerved and hit a tree.’
‘Wasn’t hurt?’ My foot comes up and rests on the stool, and I hug my bent leg, my chin on my knee, just shy of the bandage. ‘Poor thing,’ I say quietly as Ryan’s eyes fall to my damaged leg. His big body deflates as his apologetic eyes lift to mine. I look at him expectantly, strangely relishing his clear remorse. ‘I hope it’s recovered from the shock.’
His eyes now narrow, and I can’t help my small smirk, and it only stretches when I see he’s trying very hard to hold back his own smile. ‘Something tells me it has.’
‘Don’t be so sure,’ I say quietly.
Ryan’s head cocks a fraction, his smile faint. ‘How much for the canvas and paints?’ he asks, digging into his pocket as Alex sings her delight and claps her hands. ‘She can finish it at home.’
‘To you?’ I ask, getting up and putting myself behind the counter again.
‘Yes, to me.’
I smile sweetly. ‘Fifty pounds.’
On a poorly concealed balk, Ryan pulls off three twenties from a wedge and walks to me, placing them on the counter and holding them in place. ‘You’re ripping me off,’ he whispers.
I place my hand on the notes, too, never taking my eyes from his. ‘Call it compensation for calling me a weasel,’ I whisper back, tugging the money from under his fingertips. ‘I’ll keep the change, too.’ Those eyes, they narrow more, though he’s still forcing back his amusement as I fold the twenties neatly and slide them into my top drawer, slamming it shut with a bang. And he just stares at me, and I hold it, until the silence quickly becomes uncomfortable and his gaze too intense. I look away, my skin suddenly burning. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ I ask quietly.
‘What, like I want to throttle you?’
Crack. His question triggers something inside me, and I close my eyes, withdrawing, feeling two big palms wrapped around my throat. I see myself in darkness struggling, fighting the strength, gasping for breath. I snap my eyes open on an uncontrolled exhale, reaching for my neck and feeling there, pushing back the flashback that’s caught me by surprise. I haven’t had one for years. Why now? My chest heaves. My skin becomes damp. I see his face, no matter how much I try to blink it away.