Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“You packed light.”
With a shrug and then a wink, she replied, “I figured I wouldn’t need very many clothes for the weekend.”
I let out a growl and she laughed.
“Did Lanny text you?”
“She did, and she is very thorough. She asked me my favorite colors, shoe size, lingerie size. I nearly died when she asked me if I would prefer Jimmy Choo or Louboutin. I told her neither, something inexpensive would be fine.”
I laughed. “So that’s why Lanny sent me two pictures of black high heels and told me to pick.”
“Oh, Lord,” Bristol said with an eye roll. “Which one did you pick?”
“Honestly? They both looked the same, so I told her to go with the more expensive one.”
Bristol stopped walking and looked at me. “Why would you do that?”
I pulled her to me and kissed her. “Because I can. Bri, I can afford it. Trust me.”
“That doesn’t matter. I can’t afford it. I’m on a very strict budget, so paying six hundred dollars for a pair of heels is insane.”
“Hey,” I said as I placed my hand on the side of her face. “I haven’t gotten to spoil you ever. Please let me do it.”
She sighed and looked away with a distraught expression.
“Please?”
A small smile caused the corners of her mouth to rise slightly. “Fine, but no more expensive shoes. Geesh, how much did the dress cost?”
There was no way in hell I was telling her how much the gown cost or who had made it. Once she was in it and we were in the limo, I would tell her it was Versace. The moment Lanny sent me the picture, I knew Bristol needed to wear that dress.
“Do you still not like fried pickles?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
She curled her lip. “Gross.”
Laughing, I replied, “Well, I’m about to make you a lover of fried pickles, Sweetheart.”
When we walked out of the private wing of the airport, I headed toward my Ford truck.
“Nice truck,” she said with a laugh. “I bet you’ve really hated driving Irwin’s old truck when you had this sitting here.”
“Actually, I’d take Granddad’s truck over this one any day.”
She slid into the passenger side and asked me why.
“Because I made love to you in the bed of that truck. It’ll always be my favorite.”
Her cheeks turned red, and she looked down at her hands.
I leaned in and kissed her cheek then shut the door and jogged around to the other side.
After hopping in, I looked at her. “Let’s go explore Nashville.”
For the most part, we were pretty much left alone. A few people approached me for an autograph or a picture, but Nashville wasn’t like other places. It wasn’t uncommon to see someone in the industry walking down Broadway. Bristol didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the interruptions, which was a relief. Not that I thought she would be.
I decided to stop at one of my favorite places to eat in Nashville, The Slider House.
“This is delicious!” Bristol said as she took the last bite of a Black and Bleu slider.
“And the fried pickles?” I asked as I popped one into my mouth.
She reached over and dipped a fried pickle into the ranch and then ate it. With a thumbs up, she giggled.
“I told you I’d change your ways.”
“That you did.”
“So what do you think of Nashville so far?”
She smiled and wiped at the corner of her mouth. “I like it. It’s got a fun vibe to it. So different from Comfort.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s for sure. If you’re done, I’ll pay and then we can head to my house.”
“Sounds good. I’m exhausted.”
“Damn, here I’ve been dragging you all over and didn’t even think about how early you got up.”
Bristol waved her hand to brush it off. Then she yawned, and we both laughed.
Twenty-five minutes later, I pulled up to my gate. As it opened, I waited for Bristol to say something. I chanced a look her way and nearly laughed when I saw her mouth hanging open.
“This is your house?” she asked.
“This is it.”
I felt her eyes on me as I drove down the drive.
“How big is this house?”
“About five-thousand square feet. But I have a recording studio out back that has a guest house. That’s another two-thousand square feet. It’s an old restored farmhouse. And one of the reasons I bought this place was because it reminded me of you.”
She smiled. “I can’t wait to see it.” She looked out the truck’s window again. “Well, wow. I mean I figured you lived in a nice place, but…”
“It’s just a house,” I said as parked in the driveway of my 1930’s Belle Meade brick home. It sat on four acres of land, which gave me a bit of privacy, yet I was close enough to the city.
“Let’s go in the front, and I can show you around really quick.”