Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Eat the Danish.
Eli and I watch each other the entire duration of the flight; over the rims of our water glasses, while we’re eating the steak and lobster Beth brought us, while he pretends to read the Wall Street Journal business section.
It feels like foreplay.
We watch each other, the pair of us refusing to glance away first. Even though I’m blushing from head to toe, I refuse to glance out the window to avoid his gaze.
I raise my brows.
Eli raises his.
I shiver a little and swear I get goose bumps.
You are not getting goose bumps because of Eli Cohen when all he’s doing is staring at you.
Men flirt with me, but they’re just never this…intense about it.
Intense.
Is that the right word?
“Ms. Summervale, Mr. Cohen, we’re starting our descent.”
Beth doesn’t reveal our destination in her little spiel.
Since we’re not on a commercial airliner, we’re not required to stow our trays, return our seats to their upright position, or put away our electronics. And I’m not required to shove my purse under any seats or cram it in the overhead compartment because there isn’t an overhead compartment.
It’s only when we land and are walking across the tarmac to a waiting Jeep Wrangler that I catch a glimpse of a sign at the airport where we’ve landed: Welcome to South Carolina!
I have no idea what could be here that brought us here, but if I was a betting man, I’d put my money on yet another work-related trip. I’m not disappointed. I’m just surprised—Eli said this was a date and not a work engagement.
We approach the rental car.
“They’re going to just let us drive off the runway in this car?”
“Babe, I don’t think you’ve noticed—this is a small airport. There are no commercial flights.”
The name babe doesn’t escape my notice, but I don’t comment on it. Rather, I let it marinate.
“Why are we in South Carolina? Are we here for an event?”
He pops the trunk of the Jeep and tosses in our bags, shooting me a sidelong glance.
“What? No. I told you, this is a date. I’m slightly insulted you think I would drag you all the way here on a private jet so we could go to yet another business function.”
He pulls a face. “Ew.”
Laughing, I go around to the passenger side and hop in.
Poke at the roof. “Can we take the top off this thing?”
“I was thinking the exact same thing,” he tells me. Starts to work unsnapping the canvas top.
“How did this Jeep just magically appear?” I wonder out loud. “Do you have fairies working for you?”
It only makes sense that he would.
“One thousand percent. Her name is Donna, and I can’t live without her.” He laughs. “You’ll meet her soon, I’m sure. She does all my scheduling and my booking and keeps my life organized. I wouldn’t live without her or her famous chocolate chip cookies.” He pauses. “Actually, I have a dozen of them in my bag, and I was going to save them for later, but let’s each eat one.”
“Chocolate chip cookies sound like the perfect way to get this day started.”
Eli produces a cookie, and soon, we’re on our way out the front gate, past security, rolling down the highway toward an unknown destination. He has a location programmed into the navigation system, but I can’t make out what that location is.
In a pleasant silence, we drive and drive, going from the outskirts of the city to the countryside, passing the ocean along the way. With the top down and the wind in our hair I unlace my sneakers and prop my feet up on the dashboard, eyes closing to enjoy the fresh salty air.
I’m not keeping track of how far we go because this ride with the top down is passing the time, but eventually, we come to a gate at the end of a long driveway—at the end of the driveway is another large sign welcoming us to the Calder Family Tree House Farm: Private Road, No Trespassing.
“Stop it.” I give his arm a smack. “Stop it right now. You did not.”
I’ve seen this place on television and on Instagram, and once, I did a deep dive of the tree house accommodations that look absolutely spectacular and like a ton of fun.
“I totally did,” he tells me, punching in a gate code. “Are you excited?”
“Excited? I’m ecstatic!” Practically bouncing up and down in my seat as we travel down the dirt road, kicking up dust and gravel, the rock grinding beneath the Jeeps tires only getting me more in the spirit. “This is going to be so fun!”
Impulsively, I lean across the center gear shift and kiss him on the cheek. “Eli, I can’t believe you planned this for me! It’s like you know me!”
Amongst the forest that we drive in to are cabin rentals lofted high into the air, a small animal farm, along with a rental office with a makeshift “Open” sign in its window. I don’t see any people milling about, but then, it’s late in the day, so perhaps they’re eating.