Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
I can’t stop smiling. “Thanks, ma’am,” I reply, and notice Briar’s cheeks are slightly pink.
“You don’t have to worry about that sir or ma’am stuff around here. I’m Donna.” She squeezes my hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, honey. We were so happy when Briar asked if he could bring you home. Came as a bit of a surprise since he didn’t even tell me he was dating anyone!” She looks at her son with a raised brow.
“I know. Sorry. I just…” He lets his words hang in the air, as if unsure what to say.
“We were taking things slow,” I fill in.
“Were?” Donna asks, meaning behind that one word that I hadn’t meant to insinuate. Oops. I’m supposed to be his boyfriend, who came home with him to meet his family. I shouldn’t make it sound like we’re not committed.
“Come on. Let’s get your things and go in before everyone freezes half to death. Gotta have you healthy to help at the farm!” Jeffrey beams, making it clear how excited he is to have his son in town and working with him. “So glad I caught you on my break!”
“Dad, we just got here. We don’t want to put our guest to work. I want to show him around town and some of the property.” He looks at me and pumps his brows. “We have snowmobiles.”
My pulse jumps, an eagerness I haven’t felt in a long time making my skin feel buzzy. “Really? That sounds fun. But I’m good with helping at the farm too. I want to do everything while I’m here.” Do I sound too excited? Too eager? Too…anything?
When I look up, all three are watching me with similar grins, and just like that, my worries start to dissipate.
5
BRIAR
Guilt crowds my stomach as my parents lead us inside. Excitement too because it’s cool hanging with Dawson even if this wasn’t at all how I envisioned this holiday. He’s so kind, easy-going, and accommodating in a way that few of my boyfriends ever were.
Dawson is wide-eyed, taking it all in, like the large fireplace in the living room. The ground floor is open plan now. It didn’t use to look like this when I was a kid, but my parents have renovated in the last ten years, and I’ll admit it’s modern while still being cozy.
“How about we set our bags in my room and then I’ll show you around?”
“Sounds good.” He follows me upstairs and down the hallway.
“My parents’ room is downstairs,” I tell him, trying to distract myself from my nerves before opening the door and letting him see my childhood room. Though it’s been upgraded to more of a guest space, my parents kept my trophies and books and other childhood favorites that now seem a bit juvenile.
“This is great,” Dawson says as he takes in the space, and it helps me relax.
“What—the small bed or the plastic ice-fishing trophy?” I tease.
“Oooh, ice-fishing?”
I smile at his enthusiasm. “I’m convinced you’d be excited over any small-town references.”
“Maybe.” He runs his fingers over my framed high school diploma. “I like that it hints at what your childhood was like.”
“Minus feeling out of sorts as one of the only gay kids in town, this was a nice area to grow up. My parents are awesome. Was your childhood that different?”
“Besides the large versus small city?” he asks, and I nod. “My parents were always attending galas, traveling, and pretty much leaving us to fend for ourselves. Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t neglected and always had everything we needed, but you seem so much closer with your parents than I ever was.”
I wave a hand. “The grass is always greener and all that because truth be told, I felt a bit isolated here—suffocated too. Like I said, it’s why I chose Boston.”
Dawson glances out the window toward the back of our property, where tree saplings and the base of the mountain are in clear view. “I can understand that.”
I show him more of my trophies earned mainly from town fairs for stuff like apple-bobbing and pie-eating contests. Dawson seems even more enchanted, so I chalk it up to him watching his fair share of Hallmark movies. We ignore the bed issue—at least it’s not a single—and head back downstairs, where my mom has set out cheese and crackers and freshly baked cookies to tide us over until dinner. “Thought you might be hungry.”
“Thank you,” Dawson replies, reaching for a plate and digging right in. Outside of his nerves in the car, his enthusiasm is catching. His resiliency too for finding comfort in situations he’s unfamiliar with. There’s a lot to learn from his outlook on life.
I pop a chunk of cheddar in my mouth. “Dad headed back to work?”
“Of course.” She winks. “And don’t worry, you don’t have to help—not with a guest in town.”