A Little Too Close – Madigan Mountain Read Online Rebecca Yarros

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Sports Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
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“My bac—” He looked down and grimaced, moving the pan to another burner and killing the gas. “Shit.” Then he seemed to notice he was shirtless and cursed again, ripping a shirt out from behind him like it was a magic trick and tugging it over his naked torso.

Too bad, because the view had been scrumptious.

Yeah, I needed to get out more.

“Ava!” Sutton called out in greeting, but I didn’t take my eyes off Weston, and within minutes, my friend was easing through the doorway to stand beside me.

“I’m so sorry about all this, Callie!” she started, a blush rising in her cheeks as she slid the long strands of her brown hair behind her ears. “Hi, Weston!” She strode across the floor and offered her hand, which he shook, keeping one eye on me.

Sutton squeezed her head between me and the doorframe, shoving her honey-blond hair out of her face and setting her wide blue eyes on Weston. My ten-year-old daughter’s curiosity was going to be the death of me one day. I knew it.

“I’m so sorry we have to meet this way. I’m Ava, the executive manager of the resort.” She tapped her name badge like she needed proof.

“Reed’s fiancée,” Weston added as their hands fell away.

“That’s me.” She looked back at me with a smile that bordered on begging. “Can I talk to you both for a second?”

Weston and I locked eyes and nodded simultaneously.

“Sutton, why don’t you head upstairs and start on that questionnaire your teacher gave you?” I asked, ushering her into the house.

She puckered her face at me and shot a longing look at Weston. “But I want to know what’s going on.” There was a definite whiny pitch to her tone, and I wasn’t having it.

“And I’ll tell you as soon as I know.” I lifted my brows at her.

Her sigh was downright melodramatic. “Fiiiine.” She hefted her nearly empty backpack to her shoulder and refrained from stomping up the steps. Barely. The look she shot over her shoulder told me she wasn’t happy about it.

There were moments where the upcoming preteen years scared the crap out of me.

Once she disappeared through the door and down the hall, I shut the front door and scooped up my camera bag. Then I prayed I hadn’t broken any of my equipment as I walked past our living room with its worn couch and colorful throw pillows, and the school project-scarred dining room table to the kitchen island, where Ava was already sitting on one of the four stools that made up our breakfast area.

Weston stood on the other side of the island, his arms folded across his chest. He was big. Really big. Like…probably almost a foot taller than my five-four frame, and I had no business noticing the way that T-shirt stretched across his muscles. None. Nope. Not noticing.

I blinked rapidly to stop noticing.

Then it hit me. Weston Madigan was home. He was here. In my house. In my kitchen. Except, none of it was really mine, was it? This house, this kitchen…it was all his. My chest drew tight.

“Are you kicking us out?” I took the stool to the right of Ava and set my camera bag on the counter as my stomach rolled and pitched like I was on a freaking boat, like the very ground beneath my feet had suddenly become unstable.

Ava’s jaw dropped for a second, and Weston’s eyebrows hit the ceiling.

“What?” Ava shook her head. “No. Of course not. Why would you even ask that?”

“Because I’m the resort photographer but he”—I motioned to Weston—“is the resort.”

“I’m not kicking you out.” Weston leveled his dark eyes on me and didn’t look away. Whoa, that gaze was intense—captivating—and something told me it was indicative of the man himself. “I just didn’t know you were here.” His focus slid to Ava.

“And that is my fault.” She grimaced, her nose crinkling. “Reed and I had a little mix-up this morning, and by the time I realized he’d grabbed the keys for the unit, he was driving in the zone of no service—you know, the one between the lodge and the turn at the lift?”

Weston and I both nodded. Cell phone reception was always hit or miss around here.

“I tried to call him, but anyway, he was supposed to give you the spare keys to the house. Like…the house, house. Our house. Well, it’s your house, but you get the idea,” she explained, lacing her fingers on the countertop. “Because I told him this was our only open unit, which to me meant we were out of housing because we’ve left the other side of Callie’s duplex empty since she and Sutton moved in, but…” She shrugged. “Here we are.”

My shoulders dipped in relief. This was all one huge misunderstanding. Weston would move back in with his family and I would keep the roof over Sutton’s head. Phew.



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