Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“Not yet. I’m at the edge of town. How did things go with your date last night?” I put the emphasis on date. She’s been on quite a few with Scott.
“It was wonderful, but don’t get your hopes up too much. I’m not.” She sounds a bit leery, as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. I mean, I understand given what she has been through, but I also did a thorough search, similar to the one a police officer could probably do, only the free version. Scott Bennett has one divorce on the record, has no children, and is a partner at the law firm he works at. He also only has one social media account, not several, and not across the many platforms available, either.
“Fine, I won’t. I still think you should see where things go before you leave.” I shrug my shoulders, not that Naomi can see. I make a turn onto a street leading toward my new home. The sun glares through the windshield, and I take one hand off the wheel to dig around the center console in order to grab a pair of sunglasses.
“That is what dating is all about, my beautiful girl. One should do similar, don’t you think?” Naomi spins the conversation around on me. I’ve been a bundle of nerves since waking up this morning. When I hit the Florida state line this morning, it only made them worse.
“You’re right. Maybe I’ll meet a man and fall madly in love,” I say with a wistful tone to my voice.
“Didn’t you say your childhood boyfriend lived next door to you? Who knows what could happen. Maybe he still lives there or at least nearby?” she states, except it’s more like a question, and while I’ve done all the looking into Scott Bennett, I absolutely refused to do the same for myself.
“Maybe or maybe not. He could be married with two kids with a white picket fence by now, too.” Which I’m sure is the case. Jagger Steele as a seventeen-year-old on the cusp of manhood was devastatingly handsome to my young fifteen-year-old heart. I’d also made a complete fool of myself, crying, except more like sobbing, begging him to make a promise with me I had no business asking for. My younger self called it love. My older self now realizes that wasn’t fair to him.
“You won’t know until you find out. Isn’t that what you told me only last week?” Oof, Naomi is throwing down the gauntlet today.
“Yes, except we’re talking about someone from long ago. You have a man standing right in front of you, who just so happens to be wooing you.” I turn my blinker on and turn into the subdivision leading to the house that seemed like the only home I’d ever had before.
“It seems I do. Call me later and tell me everything, okay?”
“I will. Love you,” I reply.
“Je t’aime, ma chérie.” With that, we hang up, and I continue on my journey. A few more turns, a curve around the cul-de-sac, and I pull into a home that I haven’t seen in over twenty years. I’m still unsure how Dad was able to keep this from me for all these years, let alone Mom, even in those final hours. Then again, she had a lot on her mind. Dad started forgetting things, and I’m sure this is one of those subjects that was so small on his radar even on his good days, it didn’t trigger a memory.
I pull into the driveway, put my car in Park, and stare at the home in front of me. The mature tree in the front of the yard is still there, bigger than before when I used to climb up the branches as high as I could. It has me opening the door and stepping out. The once white paint could use a new coat; there are spots that are chipping and peeling. The navy shutters and door are in the same shape, and I can see I’m going to need to do a lot of weeding in order to showcase the flagstone pavers I see peeking through the overgrown grass. The bushes in front of the windows could use a good trim as well, but other than that, everything looks okay. The grass is cut, and because of the coverage from the trees, the yard is lush and green. I toss the keys in my hands and take a few hesitant steps, watching where I’m walking in case the ground isn’t level, kicking myself in the ass for wearing flip flops instead of a sturdy pair of sneakers.
I make it up the path, remembering a time when double red knock-out roses were in place of the bushes that are there now. I think I’ll replace them once I get my hands in the dirt. The small front stoop is enough to cover you from the elements while you’re rushing into the house to get out of a Florida downpour, the one problem Mom had with the house. That and the detached garage. Dad loved it, something about the car fumes never being able to make it inside the house. Therefore, Mom delegated him to be home when we’d do a big grocery shop to help lug everything inside.