Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“Someone mark the date and time,” I announced. “Carrie Constantini just admitted she doesn’t know everything.”
“Fuck you,” she said happily. “Damn, Tinker. I’m really impressed. You owned his ass.”
“Not yet, but I will,” I said. “Once my lawyer gets done with him. And I’m going out on a date tonight with Gage because I want to. I’m not stupid, I haven’t forgiven him, and I won’t forget what he did. But I think it’ll be fun and I deserve a little fun. Oh, and for the record? Joel is a giant pussy. Last night he totally abandoned me to my fate. Ran out of there like a scared little girl when Gage showed up, although I have to give him a little credit for calling in a welfare check with the cops. Although the rumors it caused will just complicate things more.”
“Probably,” she said gravely, still smirking. “I’m glad you had fun. Just take care of your heart, okay? It took everything I had not to hunt Brandon down and shank him after we lost Tricia. I’m not sure I’d be able to hold back twice.”
“No worries. This isn’t anything real, believe me. But it’s been a crappy year, so why shouldn’t I have fun?”
“When you put it like that, I can’t think of a damned reason,” she admitted. “Go, Tinker!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Without Randi I wasn’t nearly as productive as I needed to be. Fortunately I had a bit of an out—my dad had an appointment later in the week in Seattle, so I’d be driving him over on Thursday. That’d let me take care of the deliveries on my own.
By five fifteen, I’d finished shutting everything down at the shop, wanting to get home in time to primp a bit before my date started. I was just climbing into the convertible I really needed to sell at some point when I realized that I didn’t have anyone to stay with Dad for the night. I’d been planning on asking Randi, and had forgotten about it when she left. Crap.
I couldn’t go out on a date—I had to stay home and babysit my father.
“This sucks,” I muttered as I pulled up to the house, because it did. I might not be under any illusions that Gage was the man of my dreams but that didn’t matter. The idea of a no-strings fling had been growing on me all day, and I’d actually been excited to see him again (what can I say—sometimes hormones conquer common sense). Walking into the house, I was so busy feeling sorry for myself that I didn’t notice Dad and Mrs. Webbly in the dining room at first. She was laughing and they had music playing. Country, of course. They also had what looked to be a fairly intense round of poker going, based on the carefully arranged piles of chips on the table.
Place looked like a casino.
“You have a good day?” I asked Dad, kissing the top of his head.
“Mary and I had a great time together,” he told me. “It’s been nice.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said, glancing toward Mrs. Webbly, who offered me a sweet smile.
“We’ve had a lovely day,” she agreed. “We used to play cards like this a lot, actually. While you were living in Seattle. When your mom passed, we just sort of . . . stopped. Felt good to play again.”
“We talked about her a lot,” Dad said, smiling fondly. “She always used to cheat.”
Mrs. Webbly laughed. “Lord, didn’t she? She knew we were on to her, too. She had to know.”
“Oh, she knew,” he agreed. “Plausible deniability. So long as nobody called her on it, we could all keep having our fun.”
They both started laughing again, and I thought about all the hundreds of times we’d sat around this exact table playing cards while I was growing up. The memories were bittersweet, but for the first time they didn’t hurt. I missed my mom and I always would, but maybe I was starting to heal.
I hoped so.
“I’ll be right back,” I told them, heading toward the kitchen. Along the way I pulled out my phone, sending Gage a quick text.
ME: I can’t go out tonight. I know it sounds stupid, but I forgot that I needed someone to watch over my dad.
He responded immediately.
GAGE: Mary Webbly will stay with him. We already talked. She likes the idea of you getting out
Um . . . That was a little presumptuous. I couldn’t decide how I felt about his making arrangements like that. It’d been thoughtful, but pushy, too.
ME: Okay . . . Next time check with me first, okay?
GAGE: Sure. Glad to hear you’re planning a next time.
Ah shit.
“No need for language like that,” Mrs. Webbly said, coming up behind me.
“Sorry, didn’t realize I said that out loud,” I told her, feeling as sheepish as if my own grandmother had caught me out. She grinned at me, then held up a glass tumbler, giving it a little shake. Ice cubes rattled inside.