Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
"You should contact his parents."
I watch as he chews the inside of his cheek, his brows furrowing deeper before he speaks. "I want it to be a surprise."
"How old is he?"
"Why does that matter?" he snaps.
I raise both of my eyebrows, tilting my head at his annoyance.
"If he's young, then those might be a choking hazard," I explain, wondering if he also had trouble parking and is as equally annoyed as I was when I first got here.
"Oh," he says, as if he never considered such a thing. "He's umm... eight?"
"Are you asking me?"
He blinks slowly as if he doesn't understand the challenge. I feel my cheek twitch, wondering if I'll ever get to see that dimple of his in its full glory. It's probably better if I don't because I know it'll be devastating. It's already difficult to stand here, jealous over how thick his eyelashes are. What I thought were dark brown irises actually have hints of hazel and green in them, making his eyes seems like a galaxy worth of depth.
"He might be nine," he answers. "I’m not sure."
"I don't have much experience with kids, but I've seen a bunch of little boy clothes at my last job with dinosaurs on them." I look down at the three figures in his palm. "But they also have loads of animals, so either one of those should probably be fine."
"Thanks," he says, curling his fingers around the elephant, whale, and dog bone in his hand, and then, like a weirdo, he turns and walks soundlessly toward the register.
Usually, I'm a woman capable of taking a hint, but other than the bar, this is the most social I've been. Well, other than small talk with the cashier at the tiny grocery store near my house. Despite his lack of social skills, I sort of enjoy that rugged, pissed-off edge to him.
I wait off to the side as he purchases the figures for his nephew, hating the way the cashier flips him off behind his back when he walks away.
I glare at the kid until he looks rightfully ashamed of himself, but this gives Owen time to walk right past me.
"Owen," I say when he's halfway to the door, repeating the call of his name a second time, yet it still doesn't make him turn around to face me.
Insulted, I follow him to his bike.
He doesn't seem pissed to see me standing there, but I do get the feeling that my presence stresses him out some.
"Do you have plans today?" I ask. "Other than buying those soap stones?"
"No," he says, offering nothing else.
The silence between us is filled with the traffic on the main road that splits Pigeon Forge's most popular activity destination down the middle.
When he doesn't speak, my smile grows even wider, his attention dropping to my mouth. I have to clear my throat twice before I find the ability to speak.
"Maybe we can grab some lunch or something," I offer, finding myself growing nervous as his attention stays on my mouth.
When he licks his own lips, I feel it on my skin, that delicate spot right below my ear that has always driven me crazy.
"Owen?" I prod when he seems content to just watch my mouth for the rest of eternity. "Lunch?"
"Busy," he snaps. "See ya around."
He climbs on his bike, leaving me standing there alone after the massive thing roars to life and he drives away.
Chapter 5
Hemlock
I knew the second I told her no that it was a mistake. Any fool knows that you can't get close to someone and figure out details about what you're looking for by keeping distance between you and them. But hell, she had no idea what happened inside of me when I reached out and touched her arm. I didn't even touch skin and it sent a zing of something too unfamiliar for me to deal with in public.
I can't glean information from her about Tommy Wilkinson or The Lost Kitten by running scared and hiding out.
Even the seclusion of riding alone on these switchback curves in the Smoky Mountains doesn't give me the relaxation I crave. Each turn makes me long for pressure at my back and fingernails gripping me around the waist. The distraction of those unfamiliar thoughts make me miss my turn, forcing me to travel a mile further up the road to turn around in a construction zone in order to get back to the house.
Before accepting the position with Cerberus, I spent weeks trying to convince myself that it was the right move to make in life. Then, I was willing to take anything short of becoming a criminal myself to escape it. Happiness, hearts, and butterflies will never be what I want out of life, so it makes no sense that I'm able to get lost. That silence is possible just being near a woman who is very likely either a victim of her circumstances or part of the mastermind behind whatever illegal business Wilkinson is running. No matter her place, it doesn't end with her being near me in order for me to use whatever it is about her that brings on the serenity that, until now, was only ever snuffed out by doing very bad things.