Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
“We’re not too early, are we?” Dylan asked. “Buttercup was pestering at the door, and I didn’t know if you wanted the company or not.”
“It’s fine. Perfect even. Come in. Come in.” She had spent the whole day alone, looking through swatches, trying to think of the perfect kitchen for him.
At the moment, she felt he needed something traditional, but the house didn’t seem to give that kind of vibe. She was trying to come up with a vintage-modern mix, or something with a twist. Again, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she would get to it.
Dylan had told her she didn’t have to cook for him, but before she got to work on his home, she wanted to give him a taste test, just to make sure he was happy with eating her food.
She watched as he sniffed the air. “Something smells good.”
“It’s nothing restaurant-worthy, just meatballs and spaghetti.”
“Really?”
Robin wasn’t sure from his tone if he was happy or sad about that. She raised a brow and he chuckled.
“Sounds good.”
“Come on, tell me what you really think?” she asked.
“It’s fine. I just haven’t had meatballs in a really long time. I’ve had spaghetti, but not the meatballs.”
She pursed her lips. “How long since you’ve had them?”
“A very long time.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she said.
He shrugged.
“Then I hope you enjoy these.”
Dylan put Buttercup down and she immediately came over to her, with a wagging tail and this time, rather vocal.
She crouched down, stroking the dog’s head, and then as Buttercup curled her body toward her, she couldn’t help but laugh and stroked her even more. She leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
With Dylan watching, she didn’t go so far as to inhale the doggy scent, because she had a horrible feeling he’d think that was weird.
Standing up, she smiled over at Dylan. “Can I offer you some coffee, tea, wine, or beer?”
“Do you have any beer?” he asked.
She nodded, went to the fridge, and pulled out a nice cold bottle, handing it to him. He took it, twisted off the cap, and held it up toward her.
It had been a long time since she had a beer. She’d picked them up at the grocery store on a whim a couple of weeks ago. Her ex had often told her he didn’t think a lady should drink beer, that it gave the wrong image.
Robin had never been partial to beer, but when she’d been with him, she had in her way tried to please him. Now, away from him, she had gone for the opposite of what he liked. So, beer it was.
Taking a beer out of the fridge, she tried to twist the cap off, but that wasn’t happening for her. Dylan came to her rescue and did it for her.
“Do you like beer?” he asked.
She looked at him as he took a seat at her counter. There was no judgment, just a question.
“Truth, I’m not sure. It’s been a long time since I drank, and it was something my ex hated. Now, my ex is gone, and I’m going to drink whatever the hell I want.”
Dylan lifted his beer up. “To exes.”
She clinked her bottle with his, repeated the words, and then took a sip, and as soon as it flowed over her taste buds, she wrinkled her nose.
“Bad?”
She swallowed. “Real bad, but that is not going to stop me from drinking it.”
“Your ex did a number on you, I guess.”
“You mean, apart from what I’ve told you of having not one but two kids with another woman?”
“Are you still hung up on him?” Dylan asked.
“No, I’m not. I’m not even jealous of the other woman, you know. I think I must, on some level, have known. Either that, or I’ve accepted the fact I was so stupid to have fallen for it.” She growled. “That’s what I hate the most. Falling for his tricks. I hate it.” She shrugged.
“Don’t beat yourself up. People fall for all kinds of crap all the time. Look at me. I fell hook, line, and stinker for a woman claiming to be pregnant with my kid. I didn’t even ask to see the damn test.” He shook his head.
Robin moved over to the stove and stirred the pasta. It felt just right. She picked some up and nipped off a piece, burning her fingers in the process, but it was all for a good cause. She took a bite and determined it was perfect. Grabbing some oven gloves, she picked up the pot—she had already saved some of the pasta liquid in a jug—and then moved to her sink to drain.
“You shouldn’t blame yourself. How were you to know, and some women might have seen you as being insensitive if you asked to see the test first.”
“Would you have?” Dylan asked.