Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Nico puts on a big aviator hat lined with fur, and that, paired with the red plaid jacket makes him look so hot I’m tempted to slide my hand into his pocket. If only I wasn’t so unsure about where we stand.
My heart skips a beat when he gives me a soft smile. “I do love a fruitcake. Infused with lots of rum.”
“Okay, then we need flour, and eggs, and sugar, and some dried fruit,” I recite before licking my lips. I do like his smile. “I’ll check the ingredients online, so we don’t forget anything.” Then I realize I don’t have my phone and I still, worried I’ve just made things even more awkward.
Nico hesitates, but after grabbing a shopping cart he unlocks his phone and hands it to me. It’s either trust or a test.
“When we went to the cookie decorating workshop, you said you never baked anything,” he says and I’m torn between being happy that he listened to me so carefully and annoyed about it.
I look up, glad to be in a more bearable temperature. “Well, yes, but it can’t be that hard. People do it all the time.”
We start making our way through the store and I’m glad there aren’t many people around, because I’m paranoid that anyone could be an assassin and pull out a knife on me. For all I know, even the old lady with her dog paw print handbag reading Stay Pawtastic could be a killer in disguise, so I stick close to Nico as he picks up some essentials.
“Has anything… prompted this idea?” he asks with a smirk that melts me a little.
I swallow, walking the long aisle that has all kinds of baking and dessert products. I’m a bit confused by the look of this place, with its old tiles and pipes hanging over our heads. There’s even a spot where one leaks, and a bucket is gathering the drips in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a barrier of plastic cones and tape. A fishy odor comes from one of the fridges, and my chef often told me to never eat at a restaurant that smells like this. But we’re here to buy provisions, not raw meat, so we should be safe from the possibility of food poisoning.
“I feel bad about… tattling on you to my brother.”
Nico stops with me and stretches, which only makes him appear taller. “I appreciate that and hope there’s more trust between us now.” He appears so wholesome with the hat, the strands of blond hair peeking out, his knock-off Timberland boots, but his blue eyes, while intoxicating, tell the true story of what a predator he is. I wouldn’t have been able to tell if I didn’t know that he’s a killer, but I sense it now. A cold calculation combined with desire that makes me feel naked despite the layers of clothes.
A shiver makes its way down my spine, like a drop of hot oil about to make me sizzle. Now that his attention is back on me, I’m again torn between apprehension and pleasure. “I would like to think so…” I say before grabbing one of the many boxes. “White cake mix? Is that a type of flour?”
Nico hums. “Hm… no, it’s mix. It has most of the ingredients in there and it tells you one or two that you need to buy. Have you ever done any cooking?”
I clear my throat, feeling exposed in ways I don’t wish to be. “A little. Supervised. I do make my own sandwiches. I like the bread crispy. I just don’t usually do the shopping, so I’m not sure…” I drift off, feeling like a spoiled idiot.
“So who did the shopping? Your brother?”
I’m not sure if I should be honest, but he’s looked into me already and knows what kind of family I come from, so I settle on, “the housekeeper, or the chef.”
“You’d never go with them? You weren’t curious?” he asks, but there’s no judgment in his voice.
“The housekeeper would usually order a delivery, and the chef would shop on the way. It just wouldn’t be very practical,” I admit, unsure what to do about the cake now that the extent of my ignorance is obvious. “I would sometimes ask someone to drive me into town, but I’d never really get groceries there. I… liked being around people, but I’m not good at befriending them, so I never got to bake for anyone before.”
“Why do you think you’re not good at making friends? You always sounded pretty charming on the podcast,” Nico says and places a hand on my shoulder, causing a release of endorphins that makes me feel like I’m floating.
He’s the only one I have now. My brother wants me dead, the staff at home might be in on it, and Nico was the one to put himself between me and an armed man who broke into our bedroom at night.