Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
He was right. I did.
“Can I help?” Sutton asked him.
“Absolutely. You’re on toast duty. Just keep ’em coming.” He looked up at me from under his brows. “If what she says about your tendency to burn stuff is true, then I’m all for you staying on that side of the island.”
I scoffed.
“It’s true,” Sutton proclaimed, racing around the island toward the toaster and sliding the last foot or so in her socks.
“You’re up, Calliope,” Weston said, nodding toward the blank sheet of paper as he finished slicing tomatoes.
It was on the tip of my tongue to remind him that I preferred to be called Callie, but…huh. I actually liked the way it sounded when he said it with that rough voice of his. There was none of the nasal pinch my mother used or the tone of disappointment my father fell into by default.
“Rule number one,” I said, writing a big pink one that consumed about a line and a half. “We only share the common area. No one is allowed upstairs.” I paused and waited for him to look me in the eyes, which he did. “Ever.”
“Agreed.” He nodded once. “Your side is yours. My side is mine.”
I wrote down No one upstairs.
“You have two bedrooms,” Sutton noted, switching out toast again. “Is someone else moving in?”
“Just my gear.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. His brow furrowed as he looked at the notebook. “You don’t write within the lines?”
“It’s basically in the lines.” I shrugged.
“What are you going to do if we need more space at the bottom?” Holy crap, he was serious.
I arched a single eyebrow. “I’ll get another piece of paper.”
He blinked and started on the avocado.
“Rule number two.” I wrote out an especially oversized number two. “Overnight guests…” I glanced toward where Sutton’s back was turned and then toward Weston to make sure he caught my meaning. “Will be neither seen nor heard.”
A glimmer of humor shone in his dark eyes, but he didn’t so much as make a comment besides, “Agreed.”
I sighed in relief. The last thing Sutton needed was a parade of morning-afters in her living room. Hell, the last thing I needed was to be reminded of just how much sex I wasn’t getting. I wrote down Respectful Guests.
“Rule number three.” I swallowed and my fingers trembled slightly as I wrote down the number. “If there’s a minor in the common area, then there has to be two adults, and one of them is me.” He could never be left alone with Sutton. He could have a reputation as a freaking angel around town, and it wouldn’t matter. The number of people I trusted with Sutton could be counted on less than a hand.
He paused slicing and looked me in the eyes. “Absolutely understood.”
“Thank you.” My shoulders dipped as though a thousand pounds had been lifted from them.
“Nothing to thank me for.” He set the knife down and started opening the deli packages as Sutton switched out toast behind him. “One, I’m not a fan of babysitting, and two, if it makes you feel any better, I have a pretty high security clearance—” His jaw tensed. “I mean, had one while I was still in the army. That background check is so thorough I half-expected someone to sort through my underwear drawer.”
Sutton laughed, but I knew what he was saying, and I appreciated it. He’d been vetted.
I wrote down Callie will supervise Sutton. “And I don’t mean like, if you’re walking in the door from work or something,” I babbled. “It’s not like I expect you to call from the driveway to make sure you can access your own kitchen.”
“I understand what you’re saying, and I respect you for saying it.”
“Rule four.” My lips puckered as I thought. “You can eat whatever you want out of the fridge or pantry, but you have to replace it.” The guy was massive, and I could barely afford to keep Sutton and myself fed on this budget, let alone Gigantor over there.
A corner of his mouth lifted into another half smirk. “That’s not going to be a problem. I’m not really a Cocoa Pebbles kind of guy.”
I wrote down Replace what you eat.
He took this morning’s bacon from the fridge and started assembling the sandwiches. “Mayo?” he asked me.
“Please.” My focus shifted to watching him work. He was methodical, the movements of his large hands concise, never wasting a single motion. I wondered if that was how he flew too—controlled and concise. Within moments, he had fully constructed a sandwich and cleanly cut through all the layers.
“Sutton?” he called over his shoulder.
Her nose crinkled.
“She’s not a mayo kind of girl,” I said with a smile.
“Ranch?” he offered.
“Yes!” She caught my gaze. “Please. Yes, please.”
That had both corners of Weston’s mouth curving upward, but it wasn’t quite a full smile.