Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 91(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 91(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
We have unresolved issues, yes, but maybe it’s not yet time to dig up the past. We can talk when she’s dry, comfortable, and fed. I don’t know what’s up with her, but she needs to eat. She’s so pale, sluggish, and looks on the brink of passing out—from hunger or dehydration, I’m not yet sure.
I kick the door open and set her down in the living room. It’s not as warm as I would have liked since I was about to ignite the kindling when I ran after her.
Dan’s eyes widen as she takes everything in. The stone fireplace, a wooden mantel above it with photos of my parents and Goldie—nothing of me because all my photos have her in it—the rustic dining table with a checkered tablecloth, the walls lined with books about building everything from tables to houses, the old brown leather sofa I reupholstered myself, and the small kitchenette.
I’m proud of this little sanctuary.
“The bedroom to the right is the guest bedroom. It has its own bathroom and fresh towels. I’ll grab some of my old clothes and lay them on the bed while you take a bath.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and acid flares in my chest. She looks so damn lost and vulnerable. What happened to you, Dan?
“T-thank you, Matt. I’m s-sorry if I—”
I hold up a hand. “You’re going through some shit, and I can’t very well leave a woman alone in the woods in this weather, especially with night fast approaching. I would’ve helped you no matter who you were.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything else.
Scrubbing a hand across my jaw, I tell her, “Listen, I’m looking forward to some peace and quiet. Probably you too because you came all the way out here alone. Now, I know we didn’t part on the best terms.” She has the grace to look away in shame, red painting her cheeks. “Right now, we don’t have any choice but to stay here together until the storm clears.”
The universe punctuates that sentence with another thunder that sounds way too close to us.
Clenching my jaw, I extend a hand to her. “So, how about a truce?”
One side of her mouth curls upward, and fuck, I forgot how breathtaking she looks when she smiles—even hesitantly. I forgot how much I love it, and it makes my heart slam against my ribcage.
She slides her hand in mine and flutters her eyelids dramatically. “Only if you promise not to kill me in my sleep.”
I snort. “Lady, the flooring is new. I wouldn’t want your blood to stain them.”
Dan chuckles but then sneezes, so I point to the guest bedroom. “Go and shower before you catch a cold. You always have it worse than most people.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I shrug. “It would save me a great deal of trouble from having to kill you.”
She throws me another lopsided smile before spinning on her heel. I watch her retreating back and realize with a pang that she looks so damn frail, the windbreaker basically hangs too loosely around her shoulders.
Dan is a tall woman at 5’10. She was always proud of her height and never tried to make herself smaller. Now, her shoulders are hunched forward, and she’s dragging her feet with every step.
This is a far cry from the Dan I expected to see after living in the city for too long. I thought she’d be haughty and smug, which was stupid of me. Dan’s never been that type.
I don’t want to admit it, but curiosity is killing me. I may have joked about killing her, but that’s nothing to what I’ll do if I find out a man hurt her and did this to her.
My mood darkens when I realize that I have gone to great lengths to move on from her, but apparently, I never did. Whatever possessive feelings I felt before sharpens into something different but just as intense.
It’s jarring that while most things aren’t the same, some still are. Like me and my stupid feelings.
Dan has been and will always be the death of me.
The smell of sizzling steak fills the air when Dan steps out of the bedroom, drying her hair with a white towel and wearing my old gray t-shirt and sweatpants. They’re way too big for her, swallowing her, and she has to constantly pull the sleeves to her elbow.
Desire flares deep within me because she liked wearing my clothes, even in school. She wore my band shirts and paired them with cutoff denim shorts. She wore my jackets and basically any top from my closet.
Dan steps behind me and peers at the cast iron skillet. “Damn. You can cook now? Is it any good? Edible? Laced with poison?”
She’s standing too close for me to think properly, but conversations like this are always easy with her. It’s like we’re falling back into the natural rhythm we used to have. “Be careful insulting the chef. And to answer your question, yes, I learned how to cook when I started living here. I had to. Goldie can’t make me steak and potatoes, for one.”