Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“It was an accident,” I said, brushing dust off my skirt.
“I assumed that much. You’re a little crazy, but not that kind of crazy.” His smile widened and he cocked his head. “And why, exactly, were you crawling on the floor?”
My face got hot, but I lifted my chin and defended my knowledge of kindergarten fire safety. “You’re supposed to crawl when your house is on fire. Everybody knows that.”
He burst out laughing. “I see. And where were you planning to crawl?”
“Into the hallway to pull the fire alarm,” I said, like it was obvious. “So I could save everyone, including you, I might add.”
That made him laugh even harder, which made me feel even smaller next to his six-foot frame. “Thank you for that. Can I ask why you didn’t simply use the fire extinguisher?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t think, okay? I forgot it was there.”
“Ah. Well, next time you play with matches, try to remember it.”
“I wasn’t playing with matches,” I said irritably. “I was trying to burn something, and set the rabbit on fire by mistake.”
“What were you trying to burn?”
I ignored the question and went to the upper cabinet where I kept my wine glasses. Taking two out, I set them on the island and reached for the bottle of wine on the counter behind Nate. He didn’t move out of my way, and I came close enough to smell him.
Nate always smelled good, even when he’d just come from the gym. It was totally unfair—if the universe was going to give a man the kind of good looks it had bestowed upon Nate Pearson, the chiseled jaw, blue-eyed movie star kind that melted hearts, willpower, and panties with a single glance, then it could have at least given him overactive sweat glands or something. But no. As far as the male species went, he was about as perfect a specimen as you could imagine, at least physically. Yet another example of how the universe favors some people more than others.
Not that I had anything against Nate, other than the fact that he was a divorce attorney and thought it was insane that people spent a fortune on their weddings—including my fee—when half of those marriages were going to fail. Needless to say, we disagreed on things like marriage, love, soul mates, and wishing on stars. Actually, we disagreed on almost everything. But I’d never been one to shy away from conflict, and both of us liked a good argument.
That said, I didn’t particularly feel like arguing about this. Nate was not going to understand my feelings.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Let’s just say I had a bad day,” I told him as I poured us some wine.
“Don’t tell me—the mother of the groom refuses to wear beige.”
“Very funny.” I handed him his glass. “Are we ever going to have a conversation where you don’t make fun of what I do?”
“I doubt it.” He took a sip. “Thanks. Now what were you trying to burn? And don’t bother lying because you’re horrible at it, and you know I’ll get the truth out of you anyway.”
It was true. I swear, the man could talk the bark off a tree. I steeled myself and gave in. “A wedding invitation.”
A grin tugged at his mouth. “Only you.” This is his favorite thing to say when I get myself into troublesome situations.
“It wasn’t just any wedding invitation,” I said defensively.
“Do go on.”
“It was for Lucy and Richard’s wedding.”
He gasped dramatically. “Lucy the Traitor and Richard the Turd are getting married?”
“Yes! And they had the audacity to invite me!” Thinking about it made me angry all over again. “Talk about rude. They don’t really want me there. They did it to spite me. To shove it in my face.”
“I see. And burning their wedding invitation was going to make you feel better?”
“I don’t know. I just got so mad, I needed to express it somehow. Don’t you ever get that mad?” I asked him, although I knew the answer. Nate could always keep his cool. He probably didn’t even sweat in the sauna.
“Nope. I don’t give anyone that sort of power over me.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know, I know. Feelings are bad.”
“I never said feelings are bad.”
“You just don’t have them,” I prodded.
“I have them. But I’m careful with them—not like some people I know who hand them over at every opportunity.” He gave me a pointed look over the rim of his wine glass.
“I don’t hand them over,” I said in a huff.
“You’re at least buy one, get one free.” He took a drink, enjoying this a little too much.
“Well, how am I supposed to turn it off? When I feel something, I feel it deeply.” I paused and took another drink, then studied the toes of my shoes. “My sister says I’m not balanced, that I lack inner peace.” I peeked up at him. “Do you think that?”