Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Her denial wilted my smile. “I mean it,” I promised her. “Mor, I’ve had the best time ever. You’ll never know how much these last few weeks have meant to me.”
“Really?”
Mor was curled up with me on the couch and there wasn’t much distance between us. The summer weather that hit London when Fyfe visited had continued for most of Mor’s trip. But this past week, it had rained. A lot. We could hear it now, pinging off the floor-to-ceiling, black-framed loft windows. To cast off the damp chill, Mor had settled a throw over her knees. Her hands were under it so I couldn’t reach for them. Instead, I patted her arm. “Really.”
She bit her lower lip, eyes bright with unshed emotion. “It’s meant a lot to me too. Kids … kids at school would tease me about you. I didn’t know how to react because I felt like I didn’t know you.”
I frowned, hating that my job had put her in the crosshairs of shitty teenagers, but even more that she felt like she didn’t know her own sister. “I’m sorry.”
“But I know you now.” Her smile trembled. “I can tell them to get lost and stop talking about you because I know now that they’re misinformed.”
I didn’t even want to ask what gossip they were spreading. Probably just repeating the same garbage people posted online, only for a million people to share it as if it were the gospel truth.
My phone buzzed on the table, breaking the moment. Mor was closer to it. “I’ll get it.” She picked it up and raised an eyebrow before handing it over. “It’s Fyfe. Again.”
Ignoring the suspicion in my wee sister’s voice, I took the phone from her. My heart lurched unpleasantly.
Talk to me. Please.
Mor had seen that.
I tapped on the text and saw that was it. That’s all he’d said.
But above it was all the unanswered texts he’d sent over the past few weeks.
Basically all of them begged me to talk to him.
I couldn’t.
Fyfe Moray was my dream guy. And he’d finally made it clear that while he might find me physically attractive, there wasn’t anything about me that was special enough to warrant him falling for his best friend’s wee sister. Lewis was who he cared about.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
My eyes flew up from my phone.
Mor’s expression was soft. Sympathetic.
“What?” I gasped, feeling as if I’d had the breath knocked out of me.
“I remember.” Mor shrugged. “You … you never paid much attention to me, but I paid attention to you. Aye, I was just wee, but I remember you flirting with Fyfe. Lewis and everyone joke about it like it’s a cute story because you’re so flirty. But I always thought you meant it with Fyfe. And now”—she gestured to my phone—“it looks like something’s happened. And maybe that something is the reason why every time we have a quiet moment together, you look sad. I thought it was maybe because you’re miserable acting and you don’t want anyone to know for some reason. But now I think it might be Fyfe. Or both.”
A renewed sense of guilt hit me. I’d missed out on this. This perceptive, kind wee girl who saw me. Who clearly saw me … when no one else seemed to. And I’d abandoned her.
“Mor.” I blinked as a tear escaped.
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No.” I shook my head, sniffling. “It’s … just … I’ve been such a shit sister to you. I’m sorry.” I pulled her into a tight hug. “I’m going to do better.”
Mor’s arms came around me. “Eils, this has been the best summer I’ve ever had. We’re good. I promise.”
I pulled back but only to cup her pretty face in my hands. “I love you.”
She smiled shyly and mumbled, “I love you too. Does that mean I’m right? About Fyfe? About your job?”
“I’m … I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it.”
She lowered her gaze, perhaps upset.
I hurried to explain, “Everything just hurts a bit too much right now. But know that I’m grateful you see me.”
Seeming to understand, she nodded.
“You look so much like Mum.”
“Really?” A pleased flush hit her cheeks.
“So like her. I used to be so jealous you looked like her.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.” I released her and settled back against the couch.
“But you’re beautiful.”
“Thank you, sweetie. I think it was more about a connection to Mum, you know. I never knew my birth mother so Mum’s all I’ve ever known.”
Mor looked away, her smile falling. “Do … do you think about her? Your birth mum?”
Something about her tense demeanor worried me. “I … I do.”
“Did you ever ask Dad about her?”
“What do you mean? Like about who she was and stuff?”
She nodded, still not meeting my eyes.
“When I was younger, all the time. But when Mum came into our lives, I … I didn’t want her to feel like I didn’t accept her as my mum, so I stopped asking about Francine.”