Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“No. But my dad does sometimes.”
I nod slowly, walking to a bookshelf and gazing at all the titles, seeing several that I recognize. Still, I don’t touch anything, not wanting to intrude on her space.
“How often does she come out here?”
“No idea.”
Figures he wouldn’t know. Do guys pay attention to anything?
I continue inspecting the bookshelves; there are several delicately framed family photos—one of a young Easton in his hockey uniform in the center of a hockey rink. Another of him crouching on a dirt road, holding Rudy and wearing a fall-themed sweater.
My heart constricts. He looks so cute in sweaters!
Inwardly sighing, I wander to the long desk, where his mother’s reading glasses sit among what looks like a half-finished bead bracelet.
“Found the glasses.”
I pick up the black frames and face him, holding the spectacles in the air like a prize. Ta-da!
Easton is leaning against the doorframe, and I realize he’s been watching me examine his mother’s things.
“Thanks,” he says when I hold the glasses out to him, our fingers brushing when he takes them.
“This place is amazing,” I tell him again, swallowing whatever emotions I feel from being in this room. This tiny house full of her personality and hobbies. “So is your mom.”
“Yeah, she is.” He pauses, then adds with a nonchalant shrug, “So are you, though.”
My heart skips a beat. “You think I’m amazing?”
This is news to me, but I’ll take the compliment—it’s not as if he doles them out on a regular basis. In fact, we’re still on somewhat shaky ground; the kiss does not count. So if he wants to tell me I’m amazing, so be it.
We stand there a few moments, the quiet of the she shed wrapping around us like a blanket. The sun is warm, and in the yard beyond us, Rudy has managed to chill, basking in the afternoon solitude.
“I think you’re pretty amazing, too,” I tell him softly, and instantly regret being such a cheeseball.
His eyes widen. “Yeah? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
We stand there, inches apart, the air around us crackling.
Rudy barks.
Easton looks down my body, then back up at my face.
Into my eyes.
Down my body.
Up at my face.
Emboldened by some unknown pull, he takes a small step closer, closing the gap between us. In his mother’s shed, no less!
His hand moves as if on its own, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my face. The touch is light. Gentle. Careful.
And it sends a shiver down my spine.
I should step back. That’s the right thing to do? So things don’t get more complicated?
“Easton, what are you doing?” I whisper.
“I have no idea.”
Chapter 21
Easton
Don’t do it, man.
Don’t you dare fucking kiss her again…
Harper’s eyes search mine, wide and questioning, her voice barely a whisper.
“What are you doing?”
The truth is: I have no fucking clue.
My brain is a mess, my heart’s pounding as if I were standing center ice for the puck drop at the beginning of one of my games, and all I can think about is how close she is, how I can smell her perfume mixing with the scent of paint and the last candle that was burning in Mom’s shed.
My mouth is dry, and all I can manage is a feeble “I have no idea.”
Not exactly a lie, but not exactly the truth: I know what I’m doing, even though I also know I should walk out the door to this shed and take my mother’s glasses straight to her.
This is the worst idea ever.
I like Maddie Miller.
I’ve always liked Maddie Miller, and now she’s finally speaking to me!
Do not kiss Harper Conrad again, dude.
Do not ruin your chances with Maddie!
Too bad I never fucking listen—not even to myself.
I reach out and gently brush a stray strand of Harper’s hair from her face.
The moment my fingers graze her cheek, a shiver runs through me, and I swear I see it ripple through her, too.
I should step back. I should turn this into a joke or do something to defuse the tension.
But I can’t.
Something about her right now standing in this soft light makes her look so damn pretty. The sun. My mom’s chandelier above us.
All the pink.
JUST GO FOR IT.
Look at her. Look at the way she’s staring up at you.
That mouth.
Those lips.
They taste so fucking good.
The gap between us closes; our breath is mingling. There’s a split second when I hesitate, giving us both one last chance to pull back and walk away. It comes and goes in an instant…
“Easton,” she murmurs, and it’s not exactly a warning. In fact, the way she says my name makes my pulse spike. Adrenaline high.
A rush.
“Yeah?” My voice sounds hoarse—more a growl than anything as my fingers linger on her cheek, thumb tracing the soft curve of her jawline. How am I just now noticing how cute she is? The freckles on her nose?