Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 101466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“Dammit, this is good.”
I ate steadily until the plate was clean. Then I grabbed a slice of bread and mopped up every bit of that gravy. I sat back with a groan.
Why the fuck had I pissed her off, today of all days? I couldn’t exactly ask for more now. I wanted to, but I was certain she’d slam the door in my face. I’d be Oliver Twist, begging for seconds, only to be cast aside.
Beside me, Miller scratched at the door.
“Sorry, bud. I think we’re both cut off for the day.”
I let my head fall back. I needed to think of how to apologize.
I scrubbed my face. I needed to sleep, and my head would be clearer.
I could come up with a plan then.
I woke up the next morning, showered, and took Miller for a long walk. He stayed by my side, happy to be outside. In town, I headed to the bakery, walking in and inhaling deeply. Cinnamon, sugar, and yeast dough scents filled the air. I walked to the counter, being greeted by Sandy, the owner.
“Jesse, what can I get you?”
“I need something sweet and decadent.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place.”
I chuckled. “What’s your recommendation?”
“Chelsea pull-aparts are just coming out of the oven. They’re rich and gooey. Sticky perfection, my Al says.”
“What are they?”
“Like small cinnamon knots with cherries, raisins, and with or without nuts. They bake in a sticky caramel sauce, and while hot, I flip them so the sauce runs through them.”
“Sounds perfect. No nuts, though,” I added, unsure if Casey ate nuts. She certainly had mine in her palm right now, but not really the same thing.
I took the buns, Sandy fed Miller a dog treat she baked, and then we headed for home. As I went past the front, I noticed the wreath again, plus the fact that Casey had added a small table and a chair with pillows. She was certainly settling in.
I went to the kitchen, made coffee, and put the bun thing on the plate she’d brought over. I had washed it last night, and it seemed right to return it with something to say thanks.
And sorry for being an asshole.
I walked to her back door, Miller running ahead of me, sitting on her deck and scratching at the door. I knocked and waited until she came to the door, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, with a smear of paint on her cheek.
She greeted Miller warmly, opening the door wide enough he could squeeze in and rush past her.
She left me outside.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Thorne?”
I held up the plate. “Peace offering?”
She looked at the plate, then at me, the screen between us not hiding her disdain.
“You think you can buy me off with a cinnamon bun?”
“Chelsea buns. Still warm. I asked for extra caramel.”
She pursed her lips.
I held up my carafe. “And coffee.”
Her face changed. “Oh. Well, come in.”
I smiled and opened the door. She took the plate and coffee from me, setting them on the counter.
She turned, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head, studying me.
I tried desperately not to notice the way the action pushed up her breasts. Or how short her shorts were.
I cleared my throat. “That was the most delicious pot roast I’ve ever tasted. I was starving, and I literally licked the plate clean.”
“You were hangry.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Hangry. Exhausted. Not myself.” I drew in a deep breath. “Rude.”
I could see she was wavering. I tried to come up with something else nice. I looked around. “The cupboards look good. Great, even. Perfect color choice.”
She softened even more.
I went past her, looking at the living room. The one corner held a triangle-shaped desk. Three monitors filled the walls. Keyboards, blinking things, all sorts of computer gadgets were on the shelves she’d put up. She’d painted one wall a deeper sage than the kitchen. The new chair was in the opposite corner, a sunny, comfortable-looking spot for reading or relaxing. The old sofa had a new slipcover on it. Curtains were hung. A fresh, thick rug covered the floor. She’d even added some plants.
I turned, looking at her in astonishment. “Have you slept since I’ve been gone?”
She laughed, a real smile on her face. “I’ve been busy.” She paused. “Are you angry over the color?”
I shook my head, not wanting to rock the boat. “No, it’s fine. It looks awesome.”
“I wanted to paint the entranceway, but that armoire is in the way.”
I laughed. “Lou was never able to move it. She just painted around it. It’s been there so long, I think it’s sunk into the floor. I tried to move it once, and it wouldn’t budge.”
“Shame. It’s sort of out of place there.”
I shrugged. It looked fine to me, but I had a feeling I should keep my opinion to myself.