Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Hey now, slow down,” I say, glaring at her. “You can’t be saying shit like that. I’m in denial of you growing up and leaving me for college, and I prefer it that way.”
Taylor rolls her eyes. “Be in denial all you want, but unless NYU denies me, in sixteen months, I’ll be moving into my dorm.”
“You’ll get in,” I tell her as she stands.
“I know.” She grins. “I’ve worked too hard not to.”
“Where are you going?”
She just got home from her shift at the coffee shop.
“To pack. My trip with Mom is coming up and I haven’t started figuring out my outfits, and then I’m going out with Haley and Jillian. Is it okay if I spend the night at Haley’s? We both work the opening shift tomorrow morning.”
“Sure. Just check in with me when you’re in for the night.”
“Always!” she yells, running up the stairs.
Once I’m alone again, I pull up Kinsley’s and my text thread to read what she wrote again. I’m about to respond when an idea forms, and I send her a completely different response from the one I planned to send.
I’ll see you when you get here. Love you.
Her response is instant.
Sour Patch
Love you too!
“Hey, Tay!” I yell up to my daughter. “I have an errand to run. You good?”
Instead of responding, she appears on the landing. “Where are you going?”
“To convince Kinsley to move in with us.”
“You got this, Dad,” she says, a grin spreading across her face. “But in case you need any help, feel free to text me. You know I’m an expert on romance. I mean, my pizza idea worked.”
She shrugs, and I chuckle.
“Yeah, it did. But I think I got this one.”
And if all goes as planned, Kinsley will be moving her shit in here instead of into an empty house.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Kinsley
“I know this is an older house, but with some work …”
The realtor goes on about the potential the house has, but I tune her out, frustrated that we’ve seen six houses in Brookside and I couldn’t imagine living in a single one. I know it’s only our first day of looking, but there aren’t many options in this small town, and every one she’s shown me felt like a stranger’s house.
I mean, obviously, that’s what it is, but when Brandon and I moved into our apartment, it was an empty space, yet it still felt right. I could imagine where we’d hang our photos, the color scheme I wanted to go with. And when my parents gifted us their old townhome, it instantly felt like it was where we belonged. Maybe it’s because I’m an artist, but I need to be able to feel something, and with every place I’ve seen, I haven’t felt anything.
“I appreciate you showing me these places,” I tell Patty, the realtor my mom is friends with. “But none of these feel right.”
“That’s okay,” she says. “There are plenty of options. I’ll take a look this week and then call you to schedule some walk-throughs once I have a few worth checking out.”
After saying goodbye, I text Shane that I’m on my way, and he lets me know he’s home and to just come in when I get there.
The second I open the front door, Becky jumps off the couch, greeting me with a wagging tail, so I kneel in front of her to pet her, and she comes closer, licking the side of my face.
Since I’m here often, I’ve gotten close with her. I never had any pets growing up since my sister is allergic, but I can see why people get dogs. She’s so sweet and cuddly and protective.
When I stand, ready to find Shane, I notice the living room is dark, and there are several tea lights placed on various surfaces, creating a warm glow.
And then my eyes land on the pink rose petals all over the floor.
“Shane?” I call out in confusion.
Becky runs to the back slider, so I let her out into the backyard and then close the door. When I turn around, I find Shane standing in the middle of the room, dressed in a blue button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled to his forearms, showing off his corded muscles and the sexy sleeve I tattooed on him, along with a pair of jeans that mold to his thighs perfectly. His hair is freshly cut, and his beard is trimmed … and he’s holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers that match the petals on the floor.
“What’s going on?” I ask with a nervous laugh.
“These are for you.”
He hands me the flowers, and I lean in, closing my eyes and inhaling the floral scent. When I open my eyes, Shane is staring at me with a mixture of concern and confusion, and I realize there are tears in my eyes.