Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Who the hell does he think he is?
“I must know plenty, Mr. Cromwell, or else your current social media strategy wouldn’t need so much work.” I stare back, my eyes all warning. “Let the people mingle and just be natural. Any unnecessary tension will only wreck the shots.”
His jaw is clenched so tight as his eyes sweep to Ace.
Umm—what?
This feels like more than just being peeved over a business disruption.
Is Miles Cromwell jealous or is it just a very overactive imagination?
But the longer I see that volcanic look in his eyes, I wonder.
...this could be fun.
I stand and step closer to Ace, placing a hand on his bicep. “You’ve been so helpful, Ace. I don’t know how I would have managed the inn without you.”
Ace grins at me like there isn’t a furious bystander staring him down. “I’m happy as hell to help out. It’s what Lottie would’ve wanted.”
“It was a beast to inherit, no question. I’d be a lot worse off if Gram didn’t have great help.”
He’s drinking me in now, a new glint in his eye that says he’s excited about more than the repairs. I definitely don’t mind.
But Dracula might.
His glare is so molten it burns my skin, even as I pretend not to notice.
“It pays to have a strong, smart man around who knows what he’s doing when he swings a hammer. And my, what big hands!” I can’t resist grabbing one of his rough paws and holding it up. “I can see why she kept you around for so many years.”
“Aw, now you’re making me blush,” Ace says with a rough laugh. “Miss Lottie only kept me around because I started working for her when I was sixteen and I barely raised my prices since.”
I giggle like he’s just said the funniest thing in the world.
“Oh, Ace!” I slap his chest playfully. “Are you always Mr. Modesty?”
My eyes flick back to Cromwell and—
Eep.
I may have overdone it.
He gives me a hardened look like I’m insane now, and he wants to have me committed.
It only lasts for two seconds before the flaring silver-blue rage in his eyes abruptly flicks back with something like—is that disgust?
But Ace chuckles and nods toward the back of the room. “Hey, Jennifer, my buddies are here, but I’ll catch you later, all right?”
I nod. “Definitely. And if you don’t, you know where I live. Feel free to drop by anytime.”
I watch him as he walks away, keenly aware Cromwell’s eyes are still tearing at me like hunting hawks.
I’ve been enjoying Dracula’s reaction so much I didn’t notice how full the room is now.
There’s a steady murmur of evening laughter and friends clinking glasses, vibrant greetings and people rowdily narrating their summer adventures.
“You were laying it on thick enough to suffocate the man,” Cromwell snaps when he finally speaks.
“...I don’t know what you mean,” I lie.
“His hands? Are you kidding me, kitten? The man is a bear. He looks like he should be pawing at the ground for grubs or raiding beehives for honeycomb,” he rasps, shaking his head. “That’s fine for swinging a hammer, but hands like that have no control. No poise. No grace.”
Then he sweeps his own hand up and stares like he’s comparing himself.
Oh my God.
“I’ve watched him put them to work. He’s pretty deft. You’d be surprised.”
Crankyface shoots me another glare and opens his mouth, but before he can clap back, Sarah sets a drink down in front of me.
“I brought you a cocktail since you were busy. This is their Northwest Mai Tai. On the house. I think I’ve got some good clips to show you from the kitchen, too.”
“Later,” Dracula clips.
“Um, sure. No problem.” She nods and walks away.
I take a big gulp of the cocktail. There’s a slight mintiness or pine taste that’s surprisingly delightful.
Cromwell takes an angry slurp off his beer before he says, “You know, if I spent hours alone with a woman using my hands, I damn sure wouldn’t settle for her saying all she did was watch.”
Holy hell.
He can’t be serious.
But the irritation lining his face does it.
I laugh so hard I spew cocktail, barely catching it with a napkin.
Cromwell manages to keep a straight face for a few seconds before he smirks. “The handyman, huh? Boring choice for a small-town crush if you ask me.”
“Nobody did,” I fling back. “Ace isn’t a bad guy. He’s gorgeous and hardworking. Just ask any woman here.”
I gesture over to his group of friends. They’re all tall, young, good-looking guys, and there are twice as many women in their circle, descending like hungry piranhas.
Dracula nods.
“He’s a nice kid. I’m sure he’ll settle down with some lady born and raised here and make her very happy.” His voice is gruff. Demanding.
I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from giggling in horror or barraging him with insults.