Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
“Is that why you were home early?” he asks, pointing his spoon at my cheek.
I nod, because that’s easiest, and turn on the whisk, except it doesn’t come on. I scowl at it, flicking the switch a few more times. “It’s broken.”
He frowns and goes to the fridge, swinging it open. “Oh shoot, that’s the other circuit board gone down too.”
I lower the whisk on a sigh. “Great.”
“Brandy!” he yells at me, flashing a hipflask and opening the cap, having a swig before he pours some into the cream and offers me the flask.
I tsk him teasingly. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“A flask a day keeps the lurgies away. How do you think I made it to the ripe old age of one hundred?”
“You’re not there yet,” I say, accepting. “So this is your secret? Brandy?”
“Bottoms up,” he sings, as I tip the flask to my lips and swallow. “Jesus Christ.” I gasp, blinking back the burn as it slides down my throat. It hits my belly with a bang and more burn. “This kept you alive?” I wheeze.
“Sailor’s strength, dear.” He winks and screws the little silver cap back on, tucking it into his coat. “How’s that cream coming along?”
“Slowly.” I grab the hand whisk and get back to work, switching hands constantly to split the strain, until it finally thickens. I tip the bowl upside down over my head to demonstrate, making Mr. Percival laugh loudly.
“Oh, who’s this then?” he says, looking past me.
I turn, still smiling, the bowl still over my head, and see Dec in the kitchen doorway.
“The door was open,” he says, eyes on me. “I called a few times, but you obviously couldn’t hear me.”
“Obviously,” Mr. Percival says on a hum.
My smile falls with the bowl to the table. “Dec.”
He steps forward, his hands in his coat pockets. “What happened to your face?”
“She did it at work,” Mr. Percival says, almost proud he has the information to share.
“I did it at work,” I repeat quietly. I’d say it’s so lovely to see him, but he doesn’t look happy.
“How?”
“A door sprung back in her face,” Mr. Percival goes on.
My lips straighten as I watch Dec’s eyes narrow. He’s doubtful. “I was going to call you Monday.”
“I know. I didn’t want to wait until Monday.” He goes to Mr. Percival and offers his hand. “Dec Ellis.”
Mr. Percival flashes me an impressed look. “Nice to meet you, Dec Ellis.” Mr. Percival slaps his gloved hand in Dec’s. “Percy Percival.”
“Your name’s Percy?” I ask on a light laugh. “Percy Percival?”
The old man’s back straightens, making him a whole inch taller, and his shoulders push back. “That’s right.”
“And a great name it is, too,” Dec says, catching my amusement. “Right, Camryn?”
“Right.”
“Now, Percy, would you mind if I steal your sous chef?”
“Not at all!”
“Thank you.” Dec pries my fingers off the bowl and claims my hand. “Let’s go.”
I smile my goodbye and thanks to Mr. Percival as I look back over my shoulder, and he nods his understanding. “I feel like I’m about to be scolded,” I say.
“Why’s it so fucking cold in there?” Dec asks, grumpy.
“His heating’s broken down.”
“Is it being fixed?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“The power just went out too,” I add.
Dec stops at my door and points. “Open.”
I get the feeling I’d be dumb to refuse, so I dig my key out and slip it into the lock, pushing the door open. I look at Dec. He nods toward the doorway in silent order, so I walk in, a little apprehensive. I’m about to be grilled about my cheek. About my brush-off text message earlier. About why I’m at home far earlier than I should be.
I hear the door close and turn around, and Dec is on me immediately, taking my mouth greedily, walking me to the nearest wall and pushing me up against it.
The misery of my day fades.
I’m kissed into oblivion, his hand cupping my neck, his thumb gently stroking my injured cheek as he blitzes my mind and assaults my mouth with gentle authority. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, every nerve ending stirring. When Dec kisses me, there is nothing else.
He eventually breaks away, his eyes glossy and soft, as I pant shallowly, my mouth open, my lips swollen and wet. “Are we clear?”
“Yes,” I whisper, feeling through his hair on his nape.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
“I didn’t want you to see this.”
He half frowns, half scowls. “A door sprung back in your face?” he asks, wincing as he checks it.
I nod, shame and guilt getting me hard in my stomach. “I’m clumsy.”
He sighs, and I see he hasn’t got it in him to challenge me. “Have I got to start wrapping you in cotton wool when I’m not with you?”
Wouldn’t that be wonderful? To be protected from damage. From hurt. “I wouldn’t mind.” I loop my arms around his neck and nuzzle under his chin. “I’m sorry.”