Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“Okay, it’s not that bad,” he backtracked with a chuckle. “I’ve done most of my studying in England, but the two years I did in Pittsburgh set me back so much that I was terrified to tell my parents.”
I shrugged. “Most of those classes still give you good skills. Even woodworking.” In my family, we rarely hired outsiders to do our jobs. I’d never seen a plumber in my house growing up. I’d seen Pop under the sink several times, though. Now that he was retired, he spent his days on YouTube, checking DIY videos.
“I can’t see myself working with it, though.” Archie blew out a breath and snatched one of the wet wipes. “And to answer your other question—I was born and raised in Pittsburgh to English parents who came here the year before they had me. But they moved back after I graduated high school, so I’ve been going back and forth since then.”
“Ah.” I nodded and polished off the last of my wings and sides. “How many sisters do you have?”
“Two. Both older than me. They’re still in the US, and Linda just had her first child, a little girl. It’s possible I’m planning on spoiling her rotten.”
I smiled. “That’s why you wanna win a prize for her.”
“Exactly. Did you see the third shelf?” he asked. “It’s all stuffed animals that wear tiny T-shirts, and you can print something on them.”
No, I hadn’t paid attention to that. “What, they keep a printer behind the counter?”
He shrugged. “No idea. Maybe? But I want to win a tiger for my niece and have something cute printed on it. It’s my nickname for her, tiny tiger, because the first time I held her, I swear she growled at me.”
Aw fuck, this man was too much. It was time to figure out if he was straight or not. Either so I could push him outta my head or so I could make a move.
If he liked kids, it shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out his orientation.
“I’m guessing you want a brood for yourself one day,” I said. Because I was smooth as fuck.
“I wouldn’t mind it.” He smiled. “What about you?”
Hm. I’d been hoping for a more detailed answer. “I don’t think it’s in the cards for me anymore.” Once upon a time, I’d hoped for a football team. Family was simply everything to me.
“Why not? You can adopt and use surrogates here in the US, can’t you?”
I did have those options, but… Surrogacy was usually expensive as hell, and I wasn’t flush with cash. I didn’t struggle financially, but that was because I kept my expenses low. My house was paid off, we had good health insurance through work, and I was part of a small food collective with local farmers.
I cleaned my fingers and mouth with a wipe and went with one of the true reasons. “With the life I lead, I can’t be a single parent.”
“Because you’re James Bond.”
Jesus fuck, I needed him to be gay. I was in trouble here. “That’s right,” I chuckled. “No, but… I don’t know. I’m forty years old, I work sixty hours a week, I’m currently fostering four dogs—that’s not counting my own three—I’m gone almost every weekend, and my house requires a lot of work. Not the house itself, but I have chickens, some crops, an orchard…”
“Oh wow.” Archie leaned closer and rested his forearms on the table. “Can I live your life? It sounds amazing.”
He was gay. He had to be. I’d met complete strangers before; I was a social person and knew how most men acted when they struck up a conversation with a stranger in a bar. If I was playing the odds, I could rely on stereotypes. And Archie didn’t fit the bill. He hadn’t once mentioned sports or politics. He hadn’t bitched about his wife or women in general.
I mirrored his stance and rested my arms on the table too. “You don’t have a girlfriend stashed somewhere, do you, Archie?”
He tilted his head, and a wrinkle of confusion appeared on his forehead—for about a second or two, before it dawned on him. He knew what I was asking.
A faint shade of pink bled across his cheeks, and his smile turned almost shy. Almost. The guy was still a work of contrasts, because a hint of a smirk made his dimples more pronounced. Delicate and rough around the edges, shy and cocky…?
“No, sir.”
Sir?
Don’t play with me, boy.
I was hooked.
A plan formed quickly in my head, and I pulled out my phone to check the time and see if Angelo had texted. No word so far, though I estimated he would get back to me soon about having received his luggage. After which he’d be here within ninety minutes.
We had two hours, give or take.
I cleared my throat and pocketed my phone again. “A bunch of local bands are playing on the other side of the festival area. Wanna check ’em out?”