Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“I’m an only child.” She swallows. “And…I don’t have much of a relationship with my father since my mother died.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be,” she says a little quickly. “We weren’t exactly close. My mother and I… It’s a complicated history.” She closes her eyes, rubs at her forehead. “I’m sorry. This isn’t something I should be discussing with someone I hardly know. You’ve got a shop to run.” She turns toward the exit.
I hold out a hand. “Not at all. As you can see, I have no other customers. This is a slow time of the year.” I gesture toward a couple of leather armchairs on the opposite side of the shop with a small table in between them. “Would you like to talk a little more? I have some tea in the back. I can put a pot on. You must be chilled to the bone in this weather.”
She opens her mouth, looking me up and down. “Are you assuming from my accent alone that I enjoy tea?”
I chuckle. “I’m assuming nothing of the sort, Alissa. I was craving a cup myself and figured it would be rude not to offer some to my guest.”
She smirks. “I’m hardly a guest. I’m just a woman who took a different way home and walked into your shop.”
I grin. “And am I glad you did.”
She looks toward the door. “I really should be getting home. I have…a chicken breast thawing in the fridge.”
“Just a cup,” I say. “I’ve got an electric kettle. It only takes a minute to get going. I can bring it out, prepare everything in front of you. I’m not going to try to roofie you or anything.”
She laughs at that. “I didn’t think that was the case, Mr. Hathaway.”
“Maddox, please.”
“Maddox, yes.” The blush on her cheeks grows. “You know what? A spot of tea sounds lovely. Just one cup, and then I’d better head home.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep you from that chicken breast of yours.” I wink at her.
I go into the back and gather an electric kettle, a Polish teapot with intricate floral designs—another score from the antique shop—a couple of teabags, and two delicate cups. I fill the kettle with water from the tap and place everything on a silver tray, which I bring back out to Alissa. She’s taken off her jacket to reveal a pair of blue scrubs patterned with tiny flowers.
Damn. Never has such a practical outfit looked so sexy.
“Earl Grey all right?” I place the tray on the small table between the armchairs.
“All right?” She smiles. “It’s my favorite.”
“Really? Mine too.” I kneel and plug in the electric kettle.
“It’s the perfect evening tea. English Breakfast in the mornings, of course.” She eyes the teapot. “And what a gorgeous teapot. Where did you find it?”
“There’s an antique shop down the street,” I say. “Wanda’s Wonders. A lot of great treasures in there.” I point to the phonograph in the corner, still playing soft jazz music. “I got that beauty there as well.”
“Goodness, look at that.” She returns her gaze to me. “I must admit, Maddox, you have me leaning in.”
“Do I?” I grin at her, holding my gaze on her silently for just a few seconds too long before I turn my head to the sound of the kettle hissing. “Water is ready.”
She widens her eyes. “That was quick.”
“The kettle must have heard about your chicken breast.” I place three teabags in the pot and pour the water over it. “It’ll need just a minute to steep.” I look back into her gorgeous eyes. “In the meantime, Alissa, tell me where you grew up.”
“As you may have guessed from my accent, London.”
“Really?” I raise my eyebrows in mock shock. “I assumed Norway, or perhaps Bulgaria.”
She exhales sharply through her nose. “Very funny.”
“Maravilla, though… That’s a Spanish name.”
She nods. “My father was born in Spain. He moved to London for work, which is where he met my mother. They had me and raised me there. I came to the United States on a student visa and have been here since.”
“Student visa?” I ask. “Where did you go to school?”
“Northwestern,” she says. “I got my bachelor’s and master’s degrees there.”
“In what?”
She eyes the teapot. “The tea is probably ready by now.”
“Of course.” I pour two cups, handing one to her. “You were about to tell me what you went to school for.”
She looks down, straight into her teacup. “I went there for…flute performance.”
I drop my jaw. “You’re a musician?”
She takes a sip of tea. “I was. I tried to do the audition circuit, got to the final round with a couple of regional orchestras, but I never landed a seat. So I decided to try nursing instead. I went back to school and got my associate’s degree. Now I work at St. Charles General, near the Loop. Been there five years or so.”