Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I get that. That’s something I understand.
The house grows quiet, and the stillness prickles at the back of my neck. It reminds me of the first night Markie and I stayed here after our parents’ fatal accident. I sobbed quietly in my mother’s childhood bedroom while my sister slept on the twin bed across the room. It was so silent that night, as if the house were holding its breath, waiting for another bad thing to happen. I wanted to scream just to break the silence. Instead, I slipped on my shoes and snuck out, making my way to the creek where I cried for hours.
Until Hartley found me. He had a quilt and a thermos of hot cocoa with him like he knew not only where I’d be, but what I’d need, too.
“Sorry about that,” Lolly says, coming into the room behind me. “I left a message for Christina. I hope she’s not one of those people who doesn’t check their voicemail.”
“I ran into that recently, too.”
“With whom?”
I fight the grin tugging at my lips as I turn to her. “Hartley.”
Her brows shoot to the ceiling before the second syllable is out of my mouth.
“I saw him briefly this morning,” I say, omitting the pig fiasco and giving her just enough to hopefully satiate her curiosity. If I didn’t bring him up and she heard through the grapevine that I went by his house, she’d start imagining things that are definitely not real.
“Oh, really?” she asks like she doesn’t believe me for a second.
“Yeah, I ran by the ranch for a few minutes. No big deal.”
“Nope,” she says, smiling like the cat who stole the canary. “No big deal at all.”
I roll my eyes.
“He came by last weekend and helped me clear some brush out by the garage,” she says. “He brought Brooks Dempsey with him.” Her cheeks flush. “It was such a hot afternoon. I just hate that they had to take their shirts off.”
“Don’t tell me that you were in here spying on them from the window like a creep,” I say, laughing.
“Oh, heck no.” Her eyes twinkle. “I was right there beside them, offering them lemonade and a cookie.” She snorts. “You don’t know me if you think I was going to miss that show.”
Can’t blame you. I wouldn’t miss that show either.
“Are you two talking now?” she asks in a tone that’s a terrible attempt at sounding casual. It’s also laced with enough hope to hurt my heart.
“Lolly …”
“I’m only saying that he’s a fine man, in more ways than one.”
Can’t argue with you on that either.
I finish my tea and then rinse my glass before putting it in the dishwasher. Lolly fusses around in her pantry, telling me that she’s sitting on the Sugar County festival board for the next term. Apparently, the public voted, and she won her seat by a landslide. She thinks it’s because everyone loves her pies. It’s probably really because she’s never taken no for an answer in her life. If anyone can get things done, it’s Lolly.
“Want to come with me to Piper’s Pizza?” I ask. “I’m meeting Markie there in thirty minutes.”
“No,” she says, brushing her hand through the air. “You girls go on and have fun. I need to get a jump on festival planning.” She leans against the counter. “We have a pickleball tournament every year, but not a pickle contest. Why hasn’t anyone ever thought of that?”
I kiss her cheek. “Because no one is as brilliant as you.”
“Yes, that’s probably true.” She laughs. “Can you come by tomorrow for lunch? I’d like to go over a few things with you before you leave town again.”
Oh. My brows pull together. “I thought this was what you wanted to talk about.”
“Well, it was. In a way. But there’s more to it, and I’m waiting for a few more documents before we can sit down and go over it. But since you’re home, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see you today, too.”
“Should I be worried about it?” I ask, my tone wavering. She glosses over the word documents like it’s inconsequential, but everyone knows that if documents are involved, something is happening. Something big. Usually legal.
Like the selling of a property.
Her smile is bright. “Absolutely not. You go enjoy your night with your sister and have your rear end in church tomorrow. Then I’ll feed you lunch, and we’ll go over everything. Truly, don’t worry about it.”
“Why haven’t you had one of these talks with Markie?”
“She’s here just about every Sunday for lunch,” Lolly says. “She’ll be here tomorrow, and we’ll chat about it together.” She shrugs. “I don’t have to schedule a time with her like I do you.”
That’s fair, but it also stings. Lolly would never say that to be snide or critical. She’s always supported my wanderlust, even if she doesn’t love it. Yet I don’t get weekly lunches with her like my sister. I don’t get enough time with Markie, either. It’s a thought that crosses my mind when I let it, more often the older I get.