Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
When he turned toward the back door, I reached for his arm. “Hey…don’t do that.”
His eyebrows knitted together. “Do what?”
“Exclude yourself like that,” I replied with more conviction. “Sure, Grant and Rebecca were close, but I bet he needed you just as much, if maybe in a different way.”
“I…I’m not sure…” He seemed at a loss for words.
“Well, I am. Grant loves you. And I won’t pretend to understand the dynamics of your family. But I can take a good guess that you were the one who brought a bit of reality into the mix. Some levity and security too.” He stared at me wide-eyed. Why the hell had I said all that? “You can tell me to fuck off if I overstepped.”
“No, I…you…thank you. For always being a good friend.” He turned toward the house. “I’m gonna get to work.”
Shit. I hoped I hadn’t soured the mood even further.
I got started on a new row of cabinets, and before I knew it, hours had passed. I was startled when Delaney called me inside to have pizza with Grant and his friend Jeremy, who scarfed their pieces down before getting back to their grand strategy game or whatever it was called. I watched them nerd-out for a while, smiling to myself about the geography and historical facts being thrown around between these super-brainy teens. They were totally cool and didn’t even realize it.
I wasn’t sure what their interactions were like with Ellie in the mix because she had a last-minute thing come up, apparently. But Jeremy and Grant seemed to feed off each other’s energy, giggling like little kids instead of nearly young adults.
When I looked over at Delaney, he was smiling about it too, and I had the urge to close the distance between us and crash my lips against his. I distracted myself by asking if the crown molding was original to the house, something I’d wondered about every visit.
“I think so, yes,” Delaney said. “It’s in every room upstairs and even in the attic.”
“Is your attic finished?” I asked, nerding-out in my own way.
“Yep. And I just realized you’ve never seen our second or third floor.” He motioned to me as he turned toward the stairs. “Follow me.”
“Doors need to remain open,” Grant said in a teasing tone. “It can only lead to trouble.” Both of us froze on the steps, Grant obviously not realizing how close to the truth he’d come.
“Very funny,” Delaney lobbed back in a stern tone, but there was no way to hide his flushed cheeks.
He first showed me the three bedrooms on the second floor and how, in the master, the molding was a bit more ornate, giving me a clue that it was early twentieth century. I couldn’t help noticing the king-size bed and wondering if he’d done any updates like I had after Carmen passed.
As if reading my mind, Delaney said, “I changed all the bedding about a year later. Cleaned out the closets too. It just felt like it was time. How about you?”
“Same,” I replied with a frown, remembering how incredibly difficult it had been to pack away someone’s life, someone who was no longer of your world. I could only pray she would approve. It was strange and yet so natural to be having this sort of conversation with Delaney…but then I remembered it was how we’d initially connected.
Next, he led me to another stairway. He clicked the light switch near the banister, and I followed him up to the finished attic.
“Damn, this is nice,” I said, noting how it was angled on both sides with rafters, even if it did make for a bit of a tight fit for anything wider than a queen-size bed.
“This was Grant’s playroom when he was younger, thus all the boxes.” He motioned with his hand. “I installed electric baseboard heaters so we could use it in the winter, but haven’t done anything with it since. I’m actually surprised Grant hasn’t asked to move up here for more privacy.”
“That might give the whole doors-open policy new meaning,” I said, looking over my shoulder to the staircase.
When Delaney made a sound in the back of his throat—part groan, part frustration—our gazes clashed, and the tension in the room thickened. Just three long strides and I could hold him again, away from any prying eyes.
My shaft plumped at the thought of skin-to-skin contact, and when he shifted and adjusted himself in his jeans, it was obvious he was having the same issue.
“Fuck,” he grunted, and that bolstered my confidence enough to close the distance.
I cupped his face in my hands and wasted no time planting a kiss on him, even as I worried I’d overstepped. I felt dizzy from his woodsy scent as I broke away. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I know this is not the—”