Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“They did,” I say.
She huffs. “Tell me something. Anything. What is New Chris like? Is Haven as cool as she seems? And was she buying flowers for him at the grocery store the other day?”
“Emily,” Mom chides.
I shake my head. “No, she wasn’t, and that wasn’t Haven,” I say, a little frustrated. “That was her sister, Ripley.”
“Oh,” Emily says, frowning. Then she seems to refocus. “Still…how’s Chris?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I say, then give her a stern look. “And it’s bad to feed bread to ducks. Like you.”
She rolls her eyes.
“And you think the job will help you get more work?” Mom asks, diverting.
“Definitely,” I say. “Dean and I have some inquiries, and we’re putting together proposals for new jobs. Which means,” I say, nodding toward my troublemaking sister, “we can put more aside in the retirement fund we started for you.”
“Banks,” she says gently. “You don’t need to do that. I do have one, and it’s fine.”
“I know, but we want to,” I say.
“We do, Mom,” Emily seconds.
“You don’t have to,” Mom says, but her throat tightens.
She’s a physical therapist and while she’s had a steady job her whole life, her life and her finances were upended by my father’s lies years ago, when she took time off. Emily and I want to do what we can for her because she did everything for us.
“It’s the least we can do,” I say.
Mom shakes her head, like she’s exonerating us from supporting her. “No, all I want is for you two to be happy and to be good people, so I have everything I could want,” she says, then pats my hand. “Now tell us about your client.”
“And ideally your woman problems,” Emily adds, batting her lashes like the troublemaker she is.
But I love her madly.
And it’s clear Mom is done with the attention. “It’s good. It’s all great,” I say, since it will be. Truly it will be. Even if I have to sleep on the floor.
Which I will.
Probably.
After lunch, we wander through the touristy city, and when Mom pops into a shop selling cute aprons and cooking utensils, coasters, mugs, and little trays with irreverent sayings on them, Emily touches my arm and pulls me aside by a coaster with the words A fun thing to do in the morning is not talk to me.
“Things are going well with Brandon,” she says, a cautious sort of optimism in her tone as she nods toward Mom, who’s checking out the counter displays. “She took him to a co-worker’s birthday party the other night.”
“That’s promising.”
“Seems that way.”
Emily’s eyes dart around, then she says, “You don’t think she’d…”
A throat clears. “Marry again?”
It’s my mom, and she must have heard us talking about her boyfriend.
Emily smiles like oops. “Um, yeah.”
Mom pats Emily’s shoulder. “I’m not sure I want or need to. But Brandon is a nice guy and he’s honest, so that seems enough for now.”
Enough for now.
Sometimes that’s all you can hope for.
I don’t go back to the farm right away. I pop into Mister Fox, the Darling Springs watering hole—the non-fancy-pants one.
It’s a standard-order bar, with pool tables, rock music, and wooden counters that reek of beer and stories.
“What can I get for you?” the guy behind the counter asks. “The usual?”
It’s the owner, a guy named, well, Fox. Met him when I was first in town a year or so ago while passing through on the way to another job.
I shake my head. “Just an iced tea.”
He nods knowingly. “It’s that kind of night?”
“I suppose it is,” I say, feeling a little contemplative after that time with Mom and Emily.
“I got you,” he says, then fills a glass and slides it to me, gesturing to a pool table. “The good doc is in town.”
I turn around, spotting Monroe, the guy I met on my last trip here—and who Ripley evidently knows too. Or she knows his wife, anyhow.
Will everything remind me of her?
I shake the thought away and focus on my friend who’s not here with his wife tonight, but with a friend. When Monroe catches my gaze, he waves me over and I join the two of them. Monroe makes a quick intro to the dark-haired guy next to him, who’s wearing a button-down shirt like he had business meetings then came straight here. “This is Sawyer. He’s maybe moving to town,” Monroe says of his friend.
“That so?” I ask as I shake Sawyer’s hand.
“It’s a definite maybe,” he says dryly.
“Hope that maybe is for all the right reasons,” I say.
“I’ve been checking out property for my business expansion, so we’ll see. It’s not a bad place,” Sawyer adds, then frowns. “I’ve got some stuff to figure out though.”
And the way he says that—heavily, but thoughtfully too—makes me think it’s romantic stuff to figure out.
“Who doesn’t?”
“Truth,” Monroe seconds, then hands me a pool cue.