Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
I don’t want my dad to die, but I hate this. I hate it for him. Hate it for my mom. I fucking hate all of it.
After watching my dad sleep for two hours, I kiss him on the forehead next to his strawberry abrasions and whisper, “I love you.” Then I grab a ride home, pondering what I can say to my mom to make her feel less crushed over my dad’s interaction with another woman right in front of her.
But when the car approaches their place, my planned speech evaporates because there’s a shiny red Ford F-150 parked in the driveway. Everleigh’s new truck that she uses to pull her Airstream. I barely get “thanks” out of my mouth before flying from the car to the front door.
The good news? When my mom looks at me from her favorite blue-and-white striped swivel chair, I no longer detect anger over my father. Just the opposite. It’s like she just discovered the fountain of youth and hasn’t had a chance to tell anyone.
Next to her on the sofa, Everleigh smiles at me. She has her legs tucked beneath her, hands cupping a hot drink.
“Why didn’t you tell me you invited your friend for the week?” Mom asks with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Well”—I shift my gaze to Everleigh, who hides her grin behind her mug before taking a sip—“I didn’t have a chance to mention it. I thought I had time. After all, I just got here today. And I thought my friend would come later this week, like in a few days. In fact, I hadn’t even given her the address.” I step behind the kitchen island to wash my hands.
Everleigh sets her mug on the end table. “I know you like surprises, so I thought I’d come today.”
“I don’t like surprises,” I say.
“Well, I’m so glad you’re here. William, I was just telling Everleigh how I met your father. She didn’t know we’re twenty years apart in age.”
I toss the towel aside, eyeing Everleigh the whole time. And she doesn’t shy away from my narrow-eyed gaze.
“The Landry men like their women young,” Everleigh says.
Mom’s eyes widen. “Oh! Are you and Will—”
“I don’t think that’s an accurate statement,” I say, sitting at the opposite end of the sofa, propping my ankle on my opposing knee. “Everleigh is a psychiatrist. She’s fascinated by human behavior.”
“I met William eleven years ago at Tyler and Victoria’s wedding. Do you know them?” she asks my mom.
This is too much. What was I thinking when I invited her? Perhaps I was thinking I’d have a few days to prepare my mom for her arrival.
“Yes, of course. Thatcher and I were visiting my mom in Florida, so we missed the wedding. Did you go to medical school with Victoria?”
Everleigh nods. “I did.”
“And now you’re working in Missoula with Jamie. What a small world.”
It’s not that small. Clearly Everleigh has left out the part where she moved to Missoula to stalk me for years.
I glance at my watch. “It’s past three. Are you already checked into your hotel?” I ask Everleigh.
“Hotel?” Mom laughs. “Darling, I already have her settled into the guest room across from yours.”
Everleigh rolls her lips together and gives me an innocent one-shouldered shrug.
“I should get started on dinner. Do you eat red meat, Everleigh?” Mom stands and makes her way to the kitchen.
“I do. How can I help you?”
“I don’t need help. But thanks for asking. Will, you should turn on the porch heaters and show her the view of the lake.”
I hum, but not in agreement. It’s more of a hmm . . . what the hell is happening?
“I’ll grab a sweater,” Everleigh says, taking her mug to the kitchen before padding her bare feet toward the guest room across from mine.
As Mom surveys dinner options in the fridge, I follow Everleigh.
“You invited me,” she says, pulling a sweater from her suitcase on the end of the bed as I quietly close the bedroom door behind me.
“I did. I just didn’t anticipate you counting to ten after I left and then jumping into your truck to follow me.”
“I counted to fifty. How long did you want me to count?” She turns, threading her arms through her red sweater and pulling it on over her white T-shirt. I love how those faded jeans hang low on her hips, giving me a peek of her navel when she lifts her arms.
“At least a hundred,” I say.
“Because you’re old and you need a longer head start.” She slips on black fuzzy socks.
“If you’re going to bust my balls, at least fondle them first.” I step in front of her as she snorts. Then I duck and nuzzle my face into her neck.
God, I want to get lost in her.
“Twenty years, William.” She threads her fingers through my hair, and it makes me shiver. “Your parents are twenty years apart, and you never mentioned it?”