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 can’t help but clock that immediately.
“I’m good,” I say, toeing at a rock with the tip of my sneaker. “Lolly asked me to come home for a few days, and you know you can’t say no to her.”
He smiles. “Wouldn’t be a smart move.”
I return his reaction as warmth blooms in my stomach.
“Where are you living these days?” he asks.
“I’ve been staying in Kentucky for the last year or so. But, you know, not on a ranch where I can have Pigasso.”
He chuckles softly. “Your business is still going good? People still needing emails written for them?”
“They do. But there’s a real gold rush happening right now in text messages. You wouldn’t believe what people will pay to have you write texts for them.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t.” He leans against his truck with his long legs stretched out in front of him. “I can’t believe you make money writing correspondence like that. It’s wild.”
I shrug because it’s true. It is wild, and I wake up every day wondering if the gold rush is over. Yet every morning, there are a plethora of requests through my website asking me to create responses for various communications. Two-week notices, Social posts, and break-up notices—I’ve written them all. And it’s so much fun.
“I have so much work that I turn a lot of it down,” I say. “People keep saying that AI will put me out of business, but they don’t realize that a computer can’t generate the emotion of a real human being—which is great for me because the money is good. It keeps me from having to settle down anywhere.”
A shadow crosses his face, but he doesn’t comment. I don’t point it out either.
“My only concern is that I have no actual skills,” I say, keeping us from going down a path neither of us wants to take. “If this work stops, I’ll be begging you for a job washing horses.”
He shakes his head. “There’s no way I’m hiring you.”
“Why not?” I ask, feigning offense.
“Because no one would get a damn thing done. That’s why.” He shoves off the truck with a little grin and stretches. “How long are you going to be in town this time?”
I shrug again. “I got into town last weekend but spent most of the week in Markie’s guest room feeling like crap. Then Lolly left Thursday morning for … I don’t know what it is, really. In my head, it’s a senior citizen’s poker run without the poker or motorcycles.”
Hartley laughs.
“She gets home this afternoon,” I say, smiling at him. “I have no idea what she wants, but she said we need to talk about a few things, and it sounded pretty serious.”
“Is she feeling all right? I was over there last week, clearing her driveway after a storm ripped through here, and she seemed as sassy as ever.”
A lump settles in my throat as I take in his concern for my grandmother. He’s so good to her—clearing her driveway, picking up groceries for her in the winter, and helping her with her rosebushes last summer when she sprained her arm. He’s such a good man.
But he can’t be my man. Because Hartley will never leave Sugar Creek, and I’ll never stay.
This town holds too many emotions for me … reminders of things I want to forget. It’s a double-edged sword because it’s also the only place that has ever felt like home.
But I’ve never believed home should feel like something I have to survive.
“I think she’s fine,” I say, swallowing the lump. “Ed Beardsley was over there last week when I called. I kinda wonder if it’s about that.”
Hartley’s shoulders stiffen at the mention of the developer who has been buying up much of Sugar Creek County over the last few years. He’s a known prick who takes pleasure in taking advantage of the elderly and the economically disadvantaged. The idea of him breathing the same air as Lolly is disturbing.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I say, trying to put his mind at ease. “I asked her if he made her any offers on her land, and she said no.”
“Why else would he be there?”
I stare into his pools of chocolate, wishing I had an answer.
Lolly’s property used to be Adler property until his family ran into hard times. My grandfather bought the acreage off Hartley’s grandfather, and seeing it in someone else’s hands would kill Hart. Consolidating this land has always been his dream. It’s the only thing that really matters to him.
As much as I don’t want to admit it, the thought of someone else living in Lolly’s house—the only place I can feel close to my parents despite it coming with a load of emotional baggage—feels like being split in two. It’s the anchor to my childhood, to my family. When it’s gone, it’ll feel like the last piece of my family is gone with it.