Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I try not to think of the fact the only time Daniel texted me was to tell me Sarah told her husband, and then because I didn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth, I decided to text him. It consisted of two texts.
Me: Hey, it’s me. How are you doing?
Jason: How do you think I’m doing, considering my wife just broke my heart, and now I have to take two DNA tests.
Me: I’m so sorry.
He didn’t answer me after that because what was he going to say. The whole thing was just so fucking surreal, and the more I thought about it, the more I saw all the flags but just fucking ignored them, I guess. I also second-guessed everything he said to me, why he couldn’t join me for whatever reason. I made myself sick, wondering if they fucked in my house when I went away. Fuck, I went on my family vacation, and he didn’t come because he couldn’t just take off during a big merger. Was that code to them, and they fucked every day in my bed? Just the thought made me ill. Luckily for me, the results came back negative, so I am free and clear for now, I guess. Who knows really?
I spend the whole flight just looking out of the window. When we land, I smile and thank the flight attendant before stepping off the plane and seeing a black Range Rover with Sofia’s grandfather standing beside it. He’s wearing an old pair of jeans with a sweater and a cowboy hat. His boots look like they are ancient, and if you took one look at him, you would never guess he’s a billionaire with security contracts with the government, among other things. “Hey there, beautiful,” he greets me when I walk toward him, and he gives me a smile.
“Hi,” I say, getting on my tippy-toes and kissing his cheek. “Thank you for picking me up. You didn’t have to.”
“Oh, please,” he says, ready to take my carry-on bag in his hand. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”
“Please,” I reply, suddenly feeling exhausted.
He opens the door for me. “It’s the Southern gentleman for me,” I make a joke, and he just laughs at me.
“It’s just a gentlemanly thing to do,” he reminds me, “Southern or not.” He closes the door and loads my suitcase in the back before he gets into the car.
“So how are you doing?” he asks as the car drives away from the plane.
“Good. Glad to be here and,” I tell him honestly, “get away from the constant—”
“Questions,” he fills in for me.
“Something like that,” I reply, looking out at the trees as we make our way toward Sofia’s house. “How crazy is it that there is this sense of peace here?” I ask him.
“There are no honking horns, no police sirens,” he jokes. “You either love it, or you hate it. Your Uncle Matthew lasted a whole six days,” he says, making me laugh, “which made me lose five hundred dollars because I said he would be gone after three.”
“He did that on purpose, just to get under your skin.” I smile. The two of them compete to decide who will be the better man on the playing field. It’s scary and fascinating to watch. They could take over the world with each other, but the two of them are so hardheaded they refuse to admit it.
“You bet his fucking ass he did.” He chuckles. “In the end, I won because he was fucking miserable being here.”
He turns down a street as I see some horses in the distance. “There are horses.”
“Yeah, that’s where Quinn trains his new horses, away from everyone to get them used to the land.” He mentions his son, who has an equestrian rehab farm.
“They look so pretty,” I admire, watching them run free.
“When the cat is out of the bag and we can tell people you’re here, I’ll take you out there and get you on one of them,” he offers, and I smile.
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him as we approach Sofia’s house. The house is exactly like I remembered it when she got married in the barn next to it. This house was her great-grandfather’s and he left it to her mom, who gave it to her when she was eighteen.
The front of the house looks like it’s a log cabin, but once you get inside, it’s totally been updated. “I would tell you to go ahead and let yourself in,” Casey says, taking out the luggage from the trunk, “but this house still has a lock and key and not a key pad.” He walks up the four steps to the door, opening up the white screen door before unlocking the door and turning and handing me the key. “Here you go,” he says. “It’s got an automatic lock system, so make sure you have the key with you all the time.”