Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
My smile widens. “Yeah? I think that can be arranged. I looked at the weather forecast for the park. The average high is eighty degrees this week and not a cloud in sight. I can deliver sweat and scruff.”
She shrugs a third time—I think the lady doth shrug too much. “I mean, sure. If you want. That sounds nice. From a purely aesthetic perspective.”
“Purely aesthetic.” I reach over her head, closing the cabinet above the microwave, where I’m storing my toiletries until we have a chance to organize things. “Just a neutral appreciation of a man’s face sort of thing.”
“Right. It could be any man.”
“Really?” I flatten my palm against the cabinet as I lean in, bringing my face closer to hers. “Any man at all?”
She looks up, her lips parting. “I mean, not any man. Scruff wouldn’t improve Mr. Roid Rage. He’d still be an ugly meathead with a squashed nose.”
“He did have a squashed nose,” I agree. “With a weird texture, too. Like it had been run over by a dirt bike.”
“Right.” Her gaze slides down to my mouth with a sigh. “And I will admit, you do have very nice scruff. It’s very…even,” she says, her lips drifting closer to mine. “And dark, but not too dark.”
“That’s good to know,” I murmur, bending down, so desperate to taste her again that I forget Freya’s still loose until Tessa yips and pulls away.
A beat later, the ferret pokes her head through Tessa’s hair near her shoulder, watching me with narrowed eyes. “Oh my God, you scared me,” Tessa says, laughing as she reaches for her pet. “She’s never done that before. She just climbed right up the back of my dress.”
Freya dooks and clings to Tessa’s hand, shooting me a glance that lets me know I’m still on notice. But that’s okay. I’ll just add winning Freya’s trust to my list, right under convincing her mom to get on board with my crazy plan.
Fuck…I’m going to need all the help I can get with that one.
“How do you feel about red wine?” I ask as Tessa sits Freya in her little stuffed bed and we settle into our seats.
“I feel like it’s something we should have with dinner,” Tessa says. “Preferably two glasses, maybe three. After the past twenty-four hours, I think we deserve a wine buzz and a good night’s sleep with no alarm set for tomorrow morning.”
“Agreed. The reviews said the restaurant has a decent selection, considering it’s in the middle of nowhere in a two-room prison from the Wild West days.”
Tessa glances my way, excitement flashing in her eyes. “Yeah? That sounds interesting. I hope they have one of those menus that gives the entire history of the place on the back. I love a menu that reads like a novel.”
“I hope they have homemade gnocchi. And a killer charcuterie board.”
Tessa rubs her hands together as the engine rumbles to life. “Yes, please. I love charcuterie boards. I make a pretty mean one, if I do say so myself.”
“Oh yeah?” I pull out of our spot, guiding the camper toward the exit.
“Yeah. I know they’re trendy now, but I’ve been charcuterie-ing for decades. I made my first one when I was only twenty-three. It was Valentine’s Day, and my boyfriend did not appreciate my flower radishes and homemade pickles, but he did eat all the horseradish cheddar and leave me exactly zero slices.”
“Monster,” I say. “Horseradish cheddar must be shared.”
“I know, right?” She shakes her head. “I should have known the relationship was doomed right then and there.”
“But at least it wasn’t Stilton with dried apricots.”
She laughs as she shifts in her chair, facing me. “Oh my God, yes! Stilton is so good! But almost unanimously overlooked by charcuterie board makers everywhere. What’s up with that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it sounds too British or something? It’s sad, really.”
“So sad.” She chuckles. “We should start a campaign to raise Stilton awareness. Maybe then Marcy would stock it in the cheese section at The Farmer’s Way. She eventually got on board with more than one kind of goat cheese, once I convinced her that there are actually several different kinds and they have wildly different flavors, textures, and cooking applications.”
“Love goat cheese. Slap it on a pizza with some arugula and a little fig jam…heaven.”
She moans. “Damn, that sounds good. In the summer I like to grill a little bit in a corn husk and then top it with a corn salsa and honey to make a dip.”
I curse in appreciation.
“Amen,” she agrees.
I shoot a glance her way. “I like it when you talk cheesy to me.”
Her enthusiasm dims as I merge onto the highway. She sits back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “Yeah, well, I do love cheese. It’s a very honest food. Cheese is never going to trick you into thinking it’s good when it’s not, you know? Cheese will start to stink to high heaven or grow visible mold of some kind. It gives very clear warning signs that you should stay away from it if you want to avoid gastrointestinal distress.”