Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Why do you suppose he held on to all that?”
“I want to say sentimental value, but I doubt it. He liked to avoid stuff—necessary discussions, in particular—so maybe this was his way of coping with facing certain things, like his health, and it became an obsession.”
I want to point out that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, especially when it comes to our relationship. I know this is not the time for a marriage discussion. But maybe we need to have one before he leaves town again.
“You knew him well, so your logic makes sense.”
“Rosie knew him better.” He frowns. “Said she’d sometimes throw things away when he was napping in an attempt to keep the place tidy.”
“Bet he blew a gasket if he ever caught her.”
We share a secret smile as another memory filters through.
“I don’t care who you screw around with, but that boy can use the front door perfectly well. If I catch him on that trellis again, he’s gonna help me with the landscaping.”
Grandpa Malone might’ve been hands-off for the most part, but his chastising voice unnerved both of us.
“I’m just glad my grandpa had someone.” He swallows roughly. “At the end. He barely returned my calls and only spoke through Rosie.”
He slides onto a barstool, looking exhausted. I can see the regret on his face, likely that he didn’t do more or try harder. Probably figured he had more time. Don’t we all.
I rap my knuckles on the bar top. “What can I get you?”
“Got any ciders?”
“Really?” I smirk. “Your tastes have apparently changed.”
He hitches a shoulder. “Refreshing. Spring is coming. Tastes good going down.”
“On it.”
I turn to pour him a glass and hear him clear his throat. “You look good, J. I like the scruff.”
My fingers automatically find my chin. I guess I have let my hair and beard grow a bit more in the last couple of years. “Thanks. I can say the same to you.”
Our fingers brush when I hand him the glass, and it’s like an electric shock to my system. Micah averts his eyes and mutters, “How’s business been?”
“Pretty good. You know how it is. Ebbs and flows.”
He nods and takes a hearty sip.
“How about you?”
He places his glass down, swirling his thumb around the edge as if carefully crafting his response. “You know, the same old grind, but got a few small parts here and there.”
“I know. I’ve been following your career. Well, as best as I can.”
“Yeah?” His cheeks color, making him seem young and innocent.
I nod. “That one zombie movie was cool. It was hard to pick you out at first, but then I found you.”
“Thanks. That was a lot of fun to film with all the makeup and fake blood.”
The thing is, I always thought Micah could shine on screen all on his own—he’s that charismatic, or I’m that biased. But he hasn’t gotten his big break yet. Many never do, but he keeps plugging away.
As more customers wander in and I get busy, Micah falls uncharacteristically silent, as if he doesn’t know what to say or how to act around me, and that’s rarely been the case between us. He was never much for small talk with the locals, especially the ones constantly in his business, so his awkward glances around the bar track.
The townsfolk’s scrutiny lessened as he matured into an adult, but many in this town still gave him a wide berth. To them, he seemed unpredictable and his grandfather a bit eccentric. Thankfully, my parents never bought into that bullshit, embracing Micah as soon as I started bringing him around. Mom always called him a restless soul, and she was right. I still see the edginess in him, even sitting stiffly on a barstool.
“Is that you, Micah Malone?”
Micah’s shoulders stiffen briefly before he turns to greet the man who runs the fruit stand in town. “Sure is, Mr. Kosta.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather. Haven’t seen him around in years, but Rosie stopped by often. She told me his health had taken a turn for the worse.”
I can see his jaw clench as he tries to rein in his sharp tongue. Mr. Kosta hasn’t always been kind to Micah or his grandfather, especially when Micah got caught pocketing an apple or banana on the way to school. I have no idea why Micah did it. The only thing I could ascertain was that it was a habit left over from fending for himself while living with his father. “Thanks.”
Once Micah’s glass is drained, he stands. “Heading back. Gotta clean out some shit and then decide what to do with the place.”
My gut churns, knowing it’s unlikely he’ll consider staying in town. It would hold too many bad memories for him, on top of stifling his career. “You’re gonna clear out all the stuff he’s collected?”