Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
She gives me one last wave and then disappears into the stairwell. I suck in a breath and feel my eyes get wet as I close the door.
The apartment feels really empty now.
At least it’s better feeling empty than feeling awkward, which it totally will once Anna’s weirdo Canadian cousin arrives.
I wish I could afford the insanely high rent on my own, but I can’t. Not yet.
My business is growing at a healthy pace, but I’m not there yet.
I sigh as I walk through the empty dining area where Anna’s table was yesterday. “See? This place is already better! I can move around easier without a dining room ta—ow!” My forehead slams right into the light that normally hangs over the table but is now in the middle of the room, forehead height.
Right. I forgot that was there.
I sigh as I rub my head and stop the light from swinging.
I’m going to be just fine.
I’m working on my latest project when the hour strikes six. A web-based client hired me to create a bunch of cute little cartoon owls for their website. And I’m totally here for it.
I’m all about the cute cartoon creature life. I’m such a badass like that.
I tilt my head as I drag my Apple pen around my iPad, getting the curve of the wing just right. It’s turning out great. As usual. In one area of my life, I’m a rockstar. In all the rest, I’m a total mess.
I’m a graphic designer and illustrator with a steady stream of corporate and private clients. My specialty is cute. Every cute thing you can imagine—adorable animals with large eyes and small bodies, big colorful lollipops that would make Willy Wonka cream his pants, rainbows, flowers, witches, and ghosts that couldn’t scare a toddler if their lack-of-lives depended on it—I draw it all.
And I’m starting to get in demand. I’m finally getting a backlog of orders and I’m thinking of raising my prices.
My digital illustrations have appeared on cleaning products, packaging for kids’ toys, and been all over social media. These owls I’m working on now are for a sleep clinic’s Instagram page.
As usual, I get lost in my work and time flies by. I look up with a gasp when I realize that it must be well past six now. How long was I working on that wing?
It’s 6:18.
Emmett should be here any minute. I force myself to close the iPad and walk over to my closet to get changed.
I can’t exactly greet my new roommate in this huge Garfield t-shirt and hot pink pajama pants can I? He’ll take one look at me and hightail it back to Canada. And I won’t blame him. This shirt is horrific.
Looking in my closet always fills me with dread. Like I said, I’ve changed sizes since the pandemic started, but I haven’t updated my clothes yet. They’re all too small.
I have a few pieces that fit, but they’re all stretchy waistlines and oversized t-shirts and sweaters that do nothing for me but keep me warm and keep my body hidden.
I grab the least ugly sweater I have—an army green hoodie that I stole from my dad before I left—and put it on with some yoga pants.
The window in my room is open and I hear a commotion down on the street. We’re four levels up, so the honking below is really loud. I hurry over to the window and stick my head out, hoping to see something good.
The city does not disappoint.
A small moving truck is blocking the road and the driver stuck behind him doesn’t like it.
“Move that fucking thing!” the driver shouts. “I got to get to my pilates class!”
I make a shocked weird sort of gurgling sound when the renter of the moving truck steps out and walks down the ramp.
Oh. My. God.
“I have a truck to empty,” the man says as he easily carries a big heavy box, his big hard arms wrapped around it. Lucking fucking box.
The driver slams his palm on the wheel, giving another aggressive honk. “Move!”
The mover lowers the box onto the sidewalk and I suck in a horny breath when I see a flash of the smooth skin on his lower back.
“Can’t do that until it’s empty,” he says with a shrug of his big round shoulders. “How about you get out and help me? It’s cheaper than a pilates class.”
The driver’s anger seems to fade away. Of course it does. How can anyone be mad with that majestic alluring smile on them? It has magical powers. I’m already under its spell.
“I’ll just back up,” the driver groans and then he disappears back down the street.
Holy hell this city is full of gorgeous people. This man right here is right at home. He belongs here in a way that I never could.