Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“I hate it here.”
“Why?” he asks, genuinely sounding interested.
“Pete and I bought a townhouse just outside the city. I loved it there. We had a small yard, so the kids had space to run and play. We even had our own bathroom. I couldn’t keep it after he passed away, so I moved here to be near my grandma. It’s cheap and conveniently located near Heart’s, but I hate it. Won’t matter soon anyway. The building owner is trying to sell the place.”
He quirks a brow, so I continue, telling him something that not even Lacey knows. If she did, she would worry, and I don’t want her to worry.
“I only have six months left of my lease and then he can kick us out, which he’s made clear he’ll be doing. But the bakery has a longer lease, so he’s pissed because I’m refusing to let him buy me out of it. His parents were good friends with my grandparents, and to ensure the bakery was secure here, they signed a ridiculously long lease, but that doesn’t stop him from harassing me every chance he gets. And now, the people who are trying to buy the building have started in on me.”
I huff in annoyance. “Sorry, the whole thing just makes my blood boil. They want to turn the place into a freaking spa or something. So they think I should just move my bakery elsewhere, like it hasn’t been here for fifty years, and we don’t have enough damn spas in the city. It’s like New York is losing all of its sentimental value, you know?”
Brody nods in understanding.
“Okay, vent over,” I say with a nervous laugh, wondering if Brody’s trying to plan his escape. “Where should I send my payment for this therapy session?” Surely, a mock therapy session is not what he signed up for when he asked me out.
“You can vent any time, no charge,” he says with a playful wink as he flicks his wrist to check the time. “But we do need to get going, or we’ll be late.” He steps toward me and takes my hand in his, once again entwining our fingers—and once again, those damn butterflies make an appearance.
We’re so close that I catch a whiff of his cologne—a bit smoky like cedarwood. “You smell good,” I say because apparently, I lose my filter when I’m around this man. “What is it?”
“Tom Ford,” he says, his eyes filled with heat meeting mine. He leans in close, and I think he’s going to kiss me—and crazily enough, the thought doesn’t freak me out like it probably should—but instead, he bypasses my mouth and goes straight for my neck, the tip of his nose gliding across my flesh as he inhales deeply. “Just as I thought,” he murmurs. “Sweet, just like you.” My heart races as heat floods my body. And then, he backs up, taking the warmth with him—and like the crazy person I’m apparently becoming, I want to beg him to come back and keep me warm.
“You ready for our date?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I whisper, willing my heart to slow down. We haven’t even left for the damn date, and I’m already completely taken by this man. The way he smiles, the way he listens, the way he smells… My gaze goes to the way he’s still holding my hand. I never thought I’d be okay with another man holding my hand, yet with Brody, it feels right. I feel comfortable and don’t want to break the connection.
With his fingers still laced with mine, we head out and into the elevator. When we step onto the sidewalk, Brody guides me over to an expensive-looking burnt-orange SUV and opens the door for me. Once I’m in, he closes the door and rounds the front while I put on my seat belt and take in the vehicle. With digital everything and a display screen almost the size of my laptop, this SUV must have cost a fortune. Which makes sense since he’s rich.
“What kind of car is this?” I ask when he flips some red thing and presses a button to start the vehicle. I’ve honestly never seen anything like this before.
“A Lamborghini Urus,” he says, pulling out into the traffic. “I don’t drive often, but where we’re going, we need a vehicle.”
My brain is still stuck on Lamborghini. One night, when the kids and I had dinner with Lacey and her husband, he was talking about cars and mentioned a Lambo—as he called it—was his dream car, but since they cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, it was only a dream.
If this is the car he drives…
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly.
“Really? Is that why your entire body stiffened in your seat and your smile disappeared? Try again.”
“It’s just…” I sigh. “I’m a single mom who owns a bakery and lives in a shoebox-sized apartment.”