Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
So, this is what’s under all those cactus thorns.
A soulful young woman who cares so damn much she’ll prick and bleed on someone else’s pain.
All because she worries about what she can’t do.
All because she doesn’t realize her own strength.
“Wouldn’t call that cowardly at all,” I say gruffly. “I think that’s a smart move, mapping out a way you can do the best for the folks you care about.”
“Sure. For people who don’t even know who I am...”
“That’s what makes it smart, Miss Delilah. You care enough to plan your future around kids you won’t meet for years.”
Her startled eyes fix on me. That blush returns, and I think I’m starting to enjoy finding different reasons to coax it out of her.
She glances at the slim cardboard box in my hands, changing the subject. I expected as much.
“Hey, is that...?”
“Come see for yourself.” With a smile, I hold it out to her.
She moves so delicately, shifting her weight as she goes. It gives her steps a dancer’s grace as she walks around that empty spot on the floor.
My brows pull down.
Even as she reaches for the box, I ask, “You doing that on purpose?”
“Doing what?” She freezes, looking at me oddly, and our fingertips almost touch against the cardboard.
I nod at the open space. “Only empty spot in the room, Delilah, and you’re avoiding it like a lava pit.”
There’s a shiver of her lashes. Sadness flashes across her face.
Still holding on to the box, she looks at the floor.
“Oh, I... I hadn’t even realized I was—I mean, sometimes it’s like I can feel her there. I know it sounds crazy. But I hadn’t noticed I was doing it.” Her breath hitches. “Have you found out anything new? About Emma, I mean.”
“Sorry. Nothing yet.”
Her face falls.
Damn, I don’t want to push her anymore.
There’s something fragile in her face today.
Something that could break just as easily as the glass in her pretty picture frame.
I just nudge the box into her hands gently and bend to pick up my toolbox with a half smile.
“I’ll go get started on firming up those steps,” I tell her. “Let me know if the replacement glass isn’t good enough, and I’ll have another go at it.”
She blinks up at me, then glances inside the box, smoothing her thumbs over its surface.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I’ll bring your coffee out when it’s done.”
“Perfect.”
She’s still standing there, looking so damn lost while I duck out into the morning sunlight.
Her closest neighbors, the Greelys, are out in the driveway of their two-story brick house, herding their kids into their minivan. All four munchkins hop around in swimming trunks and goggles, holding their paddleboards and inner tubes.
When they catch sight of me, they belt out greetings.
I wave back, then crouch down to have a good look at the steps.
They’re a mess, all right.
Think I’m gonna have to replace the whole damn thing. Plenty of wet winters and baking North Carolina summers have taken their toll. Looks like a minor miracle the steps haven’t crumbled away completely.
Good thing I brought a stack of planks and a miter saw. I had a feeling this was gonna be a serious job.
By the time I finish unloading fresh pine planks from my trunk and get my saw hooked up, Delilah emerges from the house. She’s traded her short-shorts for another pair of cutoffs that barely hide an inch more of flesh.
Fuck.
I think there’s a strategic hint of black lace peeking through.
You know the worst part?
She damned well isn’t doing it to get my attention.
It might be easier for me to ignore it if she was.
Nah, she’s just being her little manic pixie self, insanely comfortable in her own skin, casual and easy and free.
I’m the uptight asshole whose balls are turning into the world’s biggest pair of flash frozen blueberries.
Why can’t I just stop noticing?
While I settle down with my measuring tape, willing my eyes not to roam, she drops down on the edge of the porch close by, swinging her legs over it.
She’s brought a matching pair of Nightmare mugs with her. One Jack Skellington, the other Sally.
She nudges the Jack mug toward me. Steam rises with the scent of good strong coffee, and my stomach growls for caffeine.
She blows on hers, pink lips pursing as she takes a sip. “Here you go. Least I can do since you fixed my frame.”
I shouldn’t feel so pleased at one little compliment.
“No trouble,” I grind out with a nod, slurping my coffee.
“Pretty sure it was, Lucas. Don’t be modest. You must be busy with everything happening,” she says. “I took a good look. You had to custom cut the glass to fit the setting, didn’t you?”
“I mean, if you want a step-by-step breakdown, yeah. Old Max gave me a few pointers. He runs the antique mall in town.” I glower at her, suddenly feeling too damn hot under my collar.