Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Both strands of lights came together behind the fountain that sat in an alcove of raised flowerbeds with perfectly shaped greenery all around, creating a private—and, yes, romantic—oasis.
“Who has thrown the pennies in?” she asked, turning to look at me.
And, fuck, if she wasn’t even more gorgeous than usual with the lights shining on her hair, standing there in that pretty dress like this was some fucking movie.
“Pennies?” I asked, snapping myself out of the sudden urge to grab her, pull her flush to my chest, and seal my lips to hers.
“Yeah, there are pennies in the fountain. Do you guys use it as a wishing fountain?”
I stepped forward, our shoulders brushing, to peer inside. Sure enough, there were shiny pennies scattered on the bottom.
“Huh. Maybe Ma throws pennies with the grandkids. Got any wishes?” I asked, watching her profile.
“I don’t have any pennies.”
I reached in my pocket for my wallet, found a penny, and held it out to her.
She took it, staring at it like she was pinning all her hopes and dreams on it. She sucked in a deep breath, then tossed it. We both stood there, watching it drop into the water and sink to the bottom.
“What’d you wish for?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you or it won’t come true,” she said, turning her head to look at me.
And we were close. So damn close. I could just lean forward and my lips would be on hers.
As if hearing my thoughts, her gaze dipped to my lips.
I know I told Dom I wouldn’t do it.
It also probably wasn’t a good precedent to set to let my mother think she could play matchmaker.
But, fuck, just this once, I didn’t want to think about anything but what I wanted.
And I wanted her.
My hand lifted, fingers sliding across the smooth skin of her neck, my thumb pressing up under her chin as I started to lean in.
“Uncle Dante!” a shrill little voice called, making both of us tense and jump apart.
“Shh, leave Dante alone, honey,” my ma said.
But it was too late.
The moment was gone.
“Dinner is probably ready,” I said.
Hazel’s gaze slipped to the fountain once again before she nodded and followed me inside.
Even hours later, after Hazel was gone, and I was alone in my bed after a punishing late-night workout, I couldn’t stop wondering what she might have wished for.
CHAPTER SIX
Hazel
“You haven’t been eating a bunch of junk food, have you?” my mother asked from my phone set in the holder on my dashboard.
Sitting in the lot at work, I leaned back against the headrest, closed my eyes, and let out a slow breath, seeking some patience.
After our usual hellos and how-are-yous, that was the first thing she asked.
Not about my new job, about my apartment, whether I’d made any friends, or if I missed home.
If I’d been eating junk.
I bit back the knee-jerk reaction to lie, to assure her that I was doing exactly what she raised me to do—count and villainize every calorie.
“So much,” I admitted. “Work has these awesome apple cider donuts. And this area has the best pizza I’ve ever tasted.”
There was a beat of silence, my mother trying to wrap her head around this new dynamic.
“Have you found any good gyms? Pilates classes? You can’t neglect your core as you’re aging.”
“I’ve been taking some hikes. And my job is very active,” I told her. “How have things been down there? How’s Hannah?”
The topic of my baby sister always got my mom off the topic of ragging on me. She talked about her for a solid twenty minutes before my break was over and I had to say my goodbyes.
I expected to feel the same twinge of homesickness I’d been feeling each time I talked to my family since the move. This time, though, all I felt was a deep sense of rightness about where I was.
It seemed like the physical distance had finally allowed me to untangle the messy web of our mother/daughter relationship and emerge from it more independent than I’d been in Florida.
Grabbing my coffee, I took the last sip, closed my eyes, and leaned to look out the sunroof at the night sky dotted with stars.
Just a moment of calm before the chaos continued.
A loud knock on the window had me jolting forward, a scream caught in my throat.
My head whipping to the side, I caught sight of one of my new hires, a tall, skinny guy who played a really good machete-wielding psycho.
Half of his face was painted white; the other half, black. His entire outfit was tight and black as well.
He was too young for me, but I understood why so many of the teens and young women swooned over him when he came running toward them. Or, better yet, when he started slowly stalking around them.
The guy probably got twenty phone numbers a shift.