Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
She at least felt perfect, which was a feeling she hadn’t come across in the last few months of school. The pressure to be someone she wasn’t ready to be had gotten to her. Her grades mattered, as did the network of businesspeople she mingled with. Toward the end, her frat parties turned into influential dinner parties where she faked smiled her way through cocktail hour and discussed the ins and outs of corporate life.
At those parties, she wasn’t Caroline Taylor. She was Rupert Taylor’s daughter. The people she intended to work for hadn’t even bothered to remember her name. When she was among the suits, she didn’t have her own identity. This bothered her about the industry she chose. Well, the field her father told her to choose.
Caroline closed her eyes and willed her negative thoughts away. Neither she nor Dune needed them marring their date. They would have a fun time, enjoy the evening, and each other’s company. She liked him, even though he was nothing like the students at Yale or someone her father would want her to be with.
That thought gave her pause as she stared at herself in the mirror. Was she entertaining Dune because her father wouldn’t approve?
Her head moved back and forth. Slowly at first, and then more vigorously. No, she liked Dune, despite their earlier head butting when it came to her designer wardrobe. Besides, it wasn’t like her father or mother would randomly show up in Seaport to visit. They were against the idea of her coming here to begin with.
The knock at the door jostled her from her thoughts. “Just a minute,” she yelled, hoping Dune could hear her. She finished tousling her hair, grabbed a hair tie, and slipped it over her wrist, and then went into her room to grab a sweater.
When she came down the hall, she saw Dune’s silhouette through the sheer curtain over the window. He paced the porch, and she wondered what bothered him. He was by far the most carefree man she had ever met and marveled at how everything seemed to roll off his shoulders. She pushed the door open and their eyes locked. Dune's lips curled into a sensuous smirk, sending an electric thrill through her body. Everything was suddenly right in her world because of him.
“Hey,” he said as he reached for the screen door. He opened it and then took her hand in his. He was different, not the normal grumpy and gruff captain she had grown accustomed to. Something in him had shifted, and she was all for it. Tonight, he dressed in a pair of navy shorts and had a white button down on, with the sleeves rolled. His arms flexed, showing off his impressive muscles. She yearned to see him shirtless because any fantasy she had, wouldn’t do him justice.
“Hey,” she said right back. Before pulling the door shut, she twisted the dial on the inside knob to engage the lock, and then shut the door behind her. Dune continued to hold the screen door until she moved away, and then he let it shut. He linked his fingers with hers and when they reached his truck—not a car—she paused.
“I didn’t expect this,” she said of his Bronco.
“What did you expect?”
“A Jeep.”
Dune chuckled. “That would be too cliché. Everyone owns a Jeep these days, but these . . .” he set his hand near the windshield. “She’s my pride and joy. A fully restored, 1973 Ford Bronco.” Dune offered Caroline his hand, and she took it while climbing into the front seat. She buckled up and waited for him to join her.
“The color is beautiful,” she told him when he got into the driver’s seat.
“Bermuda green is what they call it.”
“It’s perfect for island living.”
He nodded in agreement as he started his vehicle and headed down the road. “I love her, and everyone knows she’s mine. And by everyone, I mean the locals.”
“I’m not a car person, but I’d definitely do a double take if I saw you coming down the road.”
Dune liked what she said. The evidence showed on his face. He kept one hand on the wheel and the other one on the console. Caroline contemplated holding his hand, but she was unsure. Not only of herself, but of their situation. Sure, he held her hand when they walked to his car, and he touched the small of her back when he walked her home. Did that mean something other than being friendly? Granted, friendly wasn’t the right term. A little more than friendly? Caroline’s thoughts confused her, and she muddied the waters by overthinking. Instead of doing something stupid, she did nothing.
The town of Seaport dated back to the mid-1600s and had the narrow streets and colonial style houses to prove it. As they drove down one road, Caroline felt as if she could reach out and touch a house—that was how close they had built them to the road.