Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
I’m a good swimmer. I must help him. I’m halfway over the grass when he finds purchase on the overhanging branch of a tree. I watch with my heart beating in my throat as he swings himself and the puppy up and climbs out onto the bank.
The adrenaline that pumps through my veins drops as abruptly as it spiked. Relief crashes down on me. The sensation is so powerful I’m nauseous in its wake.
The owner of the puppy runs toward Angelo, her son following short on her heels.
“Oh my God,” she exclaims, reaching for the puppy.
Angelo hands it over.
“Thank you,” she gushes, hugging the wet dog against her chest. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, brushing his wet hair back with his fingers.
His soaked shirt clings to his chest, emphasizing the well-cut muscles of his pecs and abs underneath. The darker disks of his nipples are visible through the white fabric, as is the black picture tattooed on his chest. She drops her gaze to his torso, cutting a path over the scrumptious picture of masculinity with her eyes. A zap of jealousy hits me straight in the gut.
Someone who exited from a house on the bank runs over with a blanket and wraps it around Angelo’s shoulders. If he looks up now, he’ll look straight at me. I backtrack until I’m in the middle of the crowd, shielded by two tall men.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” the woman says, staring up at his face with a swoony expression.
I’m so close I can hear the breathlessness in her voice, and I bet it’s not from running.
“Thanking me isn’t necessary.” He strokes the shivering puppy’s head. “I’m only glad I got to him in time. You better get him dry and warm.”
“You must be freezing.” She perks up. “I don’t live far from here. Why don’t you come home and dry off before you catch pneumonia?”
“Thank you,” he says with an impersonal smile, “but I don’t want to impose on you and your husband.”
“I live alone,” she says quickly before adding in a sultry tone, “I’m divorced.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I have to get back to my niece and nephews.”
She glances toward the children who followed the rest of the spectators to the bank and are standing next to the bridge. In a small town like this, everyone knows who Angelo’s niece and nephews are. Sophie, Étienne, and Guillaume are gaping, looking at their uncle with a mixture of shock, admiration, and pride.
She stretches out an arm, offering him a hand. “I’m Julie. My son and your niece are in the same class.”
He shakes her hand. “Angelo. Nice to meet you.” When she doesn’t let go, he frees his hand gently but firmly from her grasp. To the woman who offered him the blanket, he says, “May I return this tomorrow?”
“Oh.” The woman blushes. “Don’t worry about it. You can keep it.”
His lips quirk. When he turns and makes his way up the bank, she fans herself.
A murmur breaks out in the crowd. They follow him with their gazes as he picks his jacket up from the mud, walks to the children, and leads them to the SUV. Once he’s buckled them up in the back, he gets behind the wheel. Half of the village stare after the vehicle when he pulls into the road.
I stay out of sight until he turns the corner. Even then, I’m careful, sticking to the outskirts of the crowd as I collect my sneakers, put them back on over my wet socks, and make my way to the street. In a village where everybody knows one another, a stranger stands out like a lighthouse on a stormy sea. I can’t let Angelo find out I was at the school. I don’t want the other parents to pose questions, but nobody pays me attention. They’re too hyped up about the incident, talking about it in hushed voices.
By now, the teachers who clocked off for the day are filing through the school gate. Ducking my head, I quickly walk in the opposite direction. I don’t make it five steps before a strong hand wraps around my wrist.
On edge from the scary scene that just played off, I give a start. I look up into Roch’s stern face. He’s wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt. In his free hand, he carries a briefcase. It’s still strange to see him in casual attire instead of the black suit I got used to in South Africa.
“We need to talk,” he says.
Not giving me a chance to argue, he drags me around the school building. In a small park that borders on the side of the school, he lets me go.
A moment of silence passes as he scrutinizes me. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “I just saw my husband.”