Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“I was sanding the walls and the house was getting all stuffy.”
“You were what?” I grunt, my head snapping up from the window to take in the walls, only horror blasts through my chest at the sight. “Fuck, B. You didn’t sand the walls, you massacred them.”
“What are you talking about?” she demands, looking over her work. “I did a great job. There were holes and little cracks everywhere.”
“Yeah, but now the walls are wavy,” I tell her. “Look from the side. You’ve sanded it so hard, you’ve created divots in the wall.”
“What?” she groans, moving across the kitchen to look at the wall from a new angle, and the moment she does, her shoulders droop with defeat. “Shit.”
“It’s fine. I can fix it,” I murmur, her defeat singeing my very soul. Despite everything, despite the hurt and ugliness of the last six years, I’ve never wanted her to fail.
She lets out a heavy sigh before dropping into one of the dining table chairs, her elbows braced on the table as she hangs her head into her hands. “I am way out of my league here,” she says.
“No shit. You’re a big-city girl who doesn’t like to get her hands dirty. You’re not the DIY type,” I say as I grip the window on either side and lift it onto the counter, trying to judge just how hard this is going to be to fix. “But having said that, you’re also the kind of girl who can do anything she puts her mind to. You just need a little guidance first.”
Blair lifts her head, her brow arching as she meets my gaze. “Are you offering?”
I press my lips into a hard line, really not knowing the answer to that. Instead, I nod toward the mess of blankets piled up in front of the fireplace. “You slept out there?”
“Mm-hmm,” she says. “Some asshole stole my electric heater, and with the window out, the house turned into a freaking igloo. I had to set an alarm and wake up every hour to put more wood on the fire, otherwise, I would have frozen.”
I gape at her. “And you didn’t think to call me?”
“Oh, I definitely thought about it, but in the end, I chose my pride over my survival instincts. If I knew you were going to be the one showing up today, maybe I would have reconsidered,” she muses. “Actually . . . no, I wouldn’t have. I was happy freezing.”
I scoff as I reach for my tools. “You really hate me that fucking much?”
“What?” she breathes, her eyes widening. “Is that what you think? That I hate you?”
I let out a heavy breath. “Honestly, I have no fucking idea what I think, and when it comes down to it, I don’t think you do either.”
She visibly swallows, her gaze dropping back to the table. “I’ve never hated you, Nick,” she whispers, getting to her feet. “I, ummm . . . I’ve got a lot to do if I’m going to get the house painted before Christmas.”
Blair quickly excuses herself from the kitchen, disappearing into one of the spare bedrooms, and just as I turn my attention back to the window, Christmas carols blast through the house.
I blow out a heavy breath. I’m all for the people of Blushing getting into the Christmas spirit and shitting baubles, but Christmas music has always been like nails on a chalkboard to me.
Doing my best to ignore the screechy song coming from down the hall, I go about my business getting the window installed back into the frame and fixing the parts of the frame that are keeping it jammed. The second the window is back to its former glory, the warmth begins spreading through the house again, and a hear a relieved, “Thank fuck,” from down the hall.
I move on to the backdoor, noticing a few issues around the house that weren’t added to the multiple to-do lists Blair has stuck to the fridge, and I make a mental note to add them when I wander back out there.
The backdoor lock is a fucking bitch and takes much longer than anticipated, and when I walk back out to grab a different tool, I find Blair padding around the kitchen, in the middle of dishing up two plates, one with a half turkey sub and the other nearly overflowing.
I arch my brow as she turns around, pausing when she notices me standing by the dining table. “Oh, umm . . . I made you lunch. Figured you might be hungry.”
I’m overcome by shock, and not knowing how to respond, I just stare, and her expression quickly morphs. “For fuck’s sake, Nick. It’s not like I poisoned it. It’s just a turkey sub. If you don’t want it, that’s fine. I’ll throw it in the trash. Doesn’t matter to me if you’d prefer to starve.”