Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Sorry,” I mumble as I cover my mouth with my hand while I finish chewing. “I thought I’d start eating so that I can get through my list and let you get back to your day.” He remains frozen, and I start to worry I have food on my face. “Do I have something on my face? That was a huge bite, but it’s so good. I got carried away, but trust me, you will too. I mean, usually, I get the most carried away with dessert. Dessert with lots of whipped cream. Do you like whipped cream?” I can feel my face flame with embarrassment. I close my eyes, willing myself to shut the hell up. I’m rambling on like a fool. I can’t help it though. Dr. Thompson, Oliver… he’s sexy as hell, and him standing there staring at me, all broody and whatnot, has my nerves frayed.
Slowly, I open my eyes, knowing that I need to face this rambling crazy mess I just made myself look like. However, when my eyes meet his, they’re flaming with… desire? Is that possible? He looks like he’s ready to eat me. I shift in my seat, because I don’t hate that idea at all, and I can’t allow myself to go down that particular line of thinking.
Not here.
Not now.
I’ll save all my naughty thoughts for when I’m at home in my room all alone. That way, I can take them with me to the grave. No way will I admit that the grumpy doctor does it for me. Nope. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. I’m keeping that shit locked up tight like a bank vault.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I have a list.” I point to my tablet on the corner of his desk, as if I need proof that I’m here to work and not just ogle him while eating my lunch in his office.
That seems to break him out of his daze. “I’m sure you do,” he says gruffly. He moves to the opposite side of his desk and reaches beneath, pulling out a lunch box.
“Oh, I brought you lunch too.” I push the second Styrofoam container toward him. Did he think all of this was for me?
“You brought me lunch?” There’s disbelief in his tone.
“Yes. I wouldn’t ask you to take your lunch break time to meet with me and not provide you with lunch. It’s from Dorothy’s here in town. It’s really good.”
He nods. “I’m a fan of Dorothy’s.”
“I can remember eating there all the time growing up. I’d go to work with my dad, and we’d walk there for lunch from his shop.” I don’t know why I just told him all of that. He doesn’t care about my life, but that’s who I am. I share. I’m an open book.
I watch him as he opens the container. “Thank you for this.” His eyes meet mine, and I wish I had my phone out so I could take a picture as the corner of his mouth lifts in a small grin.
“You’re welcome.” We both dive into our lunches and eat in comfortable silence. I assumed it would be awkward, but it’s not. Not at all. I’m stuffed after only eating half, so I close the lid, wipe my mouth, and take a long pull of my water before grabbing my tablet. “Do you mind if I talk while you finish eating?”
“You barely touched yours.” He’s frowning at my now-closed lunch container.
“I’m stuffed.” I heave a sigh and place my hand on my belly, which feels as if it could pop open. “I can’t eat another bite.”
He nods stiffly, and I jump into everything I made a note of for us to go over today. “Okay, so Captured Moments here in town has agreed to be the event photographer. Palmer and Scarlett are incredible, and they’re giving us a discount.”
“Your family, right?” he asks.
I can’t hold my smile. “Yes, my aunts. Palmer is married to my uncle Brooks, and Scarlett is married to my uncle Archer.”
“That was nice of them.” He takes another bite of his lunch.
“It was,” I agree. “The caterer is sending over meal options, so as soon as I get that, I’ll let you know, and we can make our final choice.”
“I don’t care. Whatever you choose is fine.”
I ignore the statement because I plan to run the options past him regardless of whether he gives me his input or not. “The florist is going to do a mix of poinsettias and something else that she assures me is Christmassy.”
“Is that a word? Christmassy?”
I shrug. “Yes.” My answer is instant and, to be honest, a little clipped. He knows damn good and well it’s a word. He’s giving me a hard time. He chuckles, and some of my irritation melts away at the sound.