Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been soaked to the bone tonight.
Exhausted, aching, and still more than a little frustrated with the sharp-tongued ballerina I was irrevocably in love with, I walked across the little patch of grass that separated my house from the garage and headed up the steps to the front porch, only raising my head once I was clear of the rain. The sight of Allie stopped me dead in my tracks. She sat barefoot on my porch swing, her arms wrapped around her legging-covered knees, her ballet flats lying discarded next to a giant familiar bowl of water beneath her.
“You’re all right?” She lifted her chin from her knees and studied me from head to toe, worry creasing her forehead.
Fuck, if that look didn’t drain some of the frustration right out of me. “How long have you been out here?”
“A little over an hour, maybe. I worried for a while I had the wrong house.”
“Right house.” I crossed the porch and picked up the bowl of water, wincing slightly at the pain in my ribs, then emptied the contents over the railing. Anne’s Mercedes was parked on the opposite side of the street.
“I was icing my feet,” Allie muttered.
“I’ve been around you long enough to recognize the foot-icing bowl. And it takes a hell of a lot longer than an hour to melt that much ice.” I put the bowl on the swing next to her, and she unfolded her legs. I was too tired to fight with her, but I didn’t want her to go either.
She tugged the edges of her cardigan closer. “Fine, it was a couple of hours.”
My shoulders dropped. She had to be frozen. “Come inside and get warm.” I unlocked the front door, then held it open as she picked up her shoes and walked in.
She looked left, into the living room, and right, toward my office, then glanced up the steep stairs to the second floor. “I like the original woodwork.”
“I’d say thanks, but I’m just renting it.” I shut the door, and to my surprise, she set her shoes down on the hardwood and walked straight into my office.
“Because you don’t plan to stay,” she said over her shoulder, flipping on the light switch.
My stomach clenched as I took off my hat and hung it on the coatrack, my jacket quickly following, and I battled the illogical feeling that I was about to be tested. Good thing I kept the place picked up.
“I was only supposed to be here long enough to help Caroline get on her feet. It’s taking a little longer than I planned.” I followed her in, watching her expression shift to curiosity as she tucked her hair behind her ears and looked over the bookcases, stopping to examine the titles, pausing when she came across a framed photo.
“Savannah,” I explained when she looked closer at one of Juniper and me on the beach when she was five. “It was my second duty station. I was there when Sean died, then begged everyone I knew for a compassionate reassignment.”
“Did you like it there?” She moved along, her gaze skimming across a handful of awards I’d wedged between books in their padded folders.
“Yeah. I liked living somewhere else, seeing new places, meeting new people—that kind of thing.” I would have killed to know what she was thinking. Her being here was an admission that she had real feelings for me, but that didn’t mean she’d let herself give in to them, not when she felt I’d jeopardized her career.
Which, in her defense . . . I unknowingly had.
“And these?” She tugged a few of the awards free.
“They’re handed out when you save people, but they’re just pieces of paper.” I shrugged.
“Bravery and valor,” she read off one, then closed the folder and put it back with the others. “Sounds like you.” Her gaze shifted to the framed map of Alaska above my desk. “You never asked for Sitka?”
“Twice,” I answered, fatigue settling into my bones. “But I wasn’t highly ranked, and my wants didn’t match the needs of the Coast Guard.”
“And now that you have the opportunity to ask again, you’re going to request to stay here.” She picked up a framed piece of Juniper’s artwork off my desk. “For her.”
“For the same reason you wouldn’t get in the boat before Eva.” We may have been polar opposites, but we were eerily similar in one respect: our family came first, which was exactly why this thing between us had about a zero percent chance of lasting past August.
“I’m second-guessing that choice lately.” She pivoted and walked between my desk and the worn leather armchair, passing right by me and walking into the living room. “Do you ever second-guess coming back?”
“No.” I followed, my right side throbbing as her gaze swept over the space, no doubt cataloging everything, from the art I’d picked up during a drunken trip to Miami with Beachman to the potted plant I’d somehow managed to keep alive in the corner.