Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 41373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
Rowen gave me a look from under his dark rows of lashes. As he poured our glasses of whiskey, I was struck again that there was a very, very hot guy in my house.
He’s not attracted to you, I reminded myself. Down, boy.
“I had a side gig at the front desk of a hotel in the city for about two weeks, when I first left acting school,” Rowen said. “It was one of the most stressful things I’ve done. I don’t envy your job.”
“Sometimes it’s fun,” I said. “But it is always like walking on a tightrope, trying to keep customers happy.”
“I’m sure they love you. Do the old ladies ever pinch your cheeks?”
“One did last week, actually. She said I looked like a ‘young Jude Law,’ and I couldn’t help but laugh.”
Rowen lifted an eyebrow. “She has a point, though.”
“That is a nice compliment,” I said, “but I’m definitely more average than that.”
Ever since I’d started working out a lot a few years ago, I’d gotten more and more compliments, and I never knew what to do with them. I’d been somewhat athletic in high school, but I sure as hell hadn’t been all that fit.
I worked out now to clear my mind. When other people saw me as a “super fit” person, I always had a moment of confusion, forgetting that it was the type of person I’d slowly become.
Rowen handed me my glass. “Cheers, Shane. You want to get started?”
Truthfully, I wanted to spend about three hours asking him about his life and what it had been like back in New York, but it didn’t seem like Rowen was very eager to talk about himself.
I nodded, pulling in a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”
He clapped his hands together. “So, just a five-minute video?”
“They also said we could include a few photos of us around the house, showcasing specific areas that need renovation most,” I said. “We could start with the pictures.”
Rowen gave me a nod. “Lead the way. I can set up the camera.”
I took another sip of whiskey before showing him around the house. The first area I knew needed renovations was the fireplace in the living room.
“The brick around this is literally crumbling away,” I said, poking at a piece and watching it fall to the floor. “I definitely don’t feel safe lighting a fire in there.”
“That’s not ideal,” Rowen said, placing his camera on top of a shelf across the way after setting up the focus. “We should stand next to it for the pictures. Let’s do a test shot.”
He pushed some buttons and a timer started beeping on his camera. He came over to my side and in an instant, his arm was around my waist.
I had to try hard not to gasp. His body was warm against mine, and the air around me was suddenly filled with his fresh scent, something warmly spiced and gentle. I awkwardly put my arm around his shoulders, trying to look like a couple, but not knowing how much touching would be too much.
Rowen didn’t seem to have any fears in that department. He squeezed around me, holding me close. He leaned his head down onto my shoulder as the camera’s shutter clicked, taking the photo.
In another moment he was off, heading over to the camera to show me the test shot.
“I think we look like a couple,” he said.
“We really do.”
It was strange to see myself from an objective point of view. The Christmas garlands above the fireplace almost made it look cute, even though it was dilapidated.
And I almost looked like somebody in love, rather than someone faking it.
Soon we made our way around the house to a few different places, taking more shots. About half an hour later, the scent of chocolate filled the house.
“It smells fucking amazing in here,” Rowen said. “Why does it smell amazing?”
“The cakes are probably about done,” I said.
Back in the kitchen, I pulled them out of the oven.
“You bake?” Rowen said.
“Um, no,” I said. “Not really. Not ever, actually. To be honest, I’m praying that these aren’t raw in the middle.”
“I have faith they won’t be.”
As I mixed up the rest of the frosting, I really felt like a bull in a china shop all over again, like I had no natural talent in the kitchen at all. Rowen took a seat on one of the dining room chairs that looked over past the kitchen island.
“My grandma always made baking and cooking look so easy,” I said, turning the first cake over onto a plate. When I pulled the pan up, half of the cake had stayed stuck to the pan, and the other half flopped out onto the plate. “Fuck.”
“Any chance you lined those pans with parchment paper beforehand?”
I shook my head. “Zero percent chance.”
“Cooking spray?” Rowen asked.