Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
“You’ve never had a dog before?”
“With my mother?” I laugh hysterically. “Nooo way. Not even a stuffed dog because they collect dust, don’t you know.”
“What about a cat?”
“Something that pees in a box? Absolutely not. There was a squirrel living in a tree near my room once, and she called animal control to get rid of it.”
“Shit.” He rakes a hand through his sandy brown hair like he can’t believe it.
“Yep.”
“Is your apartment near your folks’ house?”
I’m ashamed to admit just how close it is, but it’s Quinn. “It’s kinda...right above their garage. When I turned twenty-one and wanted my own place, Mother had the attic remodeled.”
“Damn, woman. I wondered how she filled your fridge with food.”
“Now you know.”
Yes, I’m blushing. Big surprise.
Now he also knows how pathetically stunted my adult life has been, and why my summers with Granny meant so much.
They were the only freedom away from home I’ve ever had.
Getting a taste of it again makes me not want to return. Ever.
But I have to. I miss my career.
It’s a part of me I’m not quite ready to bury, and I’m also not excited to stare down the barrel of what’s next? If you quit, what then?
“Well, are you ready for some painting?” he says, slashing through my thoughts with the perfect distraction.
“I’ll make those cupboards sing, Quinn Faulkner.”
“Wow me,” he rumbles.
We share a wicked grin.
Surprise, surprise.
As much as I love painting, the giddy excitement wears off fast.
Hours later, I arch my back to smooth out a kink from bending over for so long and set down my brush. The cupboard doors are laid out on sawhorses throughout the barn.
We’ve already painted all of the actual cupboards inside the kitchen but brought the doors here where it was easier to lay them flat.
“Your arms about to fall off yet?” Quinn asks.
“Are yours?” I flick my tongue out at him.
Laughing, he sets his brush down. “Fuck, this is tedious.”
“But they’ll look so nice once they’re done! No work, no reward.”
“Yeah, well, right now they need to dry before we can give them a second coat. Let’s clean up and stretch our legs. I could go for a walk. Then I’ll grill us some steaks.”
I collect my paintbrush and rolling pan. “Holy crap. It’s really almost dinner, isn’t it?”
Forget having fun, time flies when you’re working yourself into jelly.
We use the outside spigot to wash our painting gear and leave it in the sun to dry before making our way around the barn.
Behind it, there’s a trail that leads into the trees, where a shallow creek twists and turns through them before making its way to the pond on the far side of the grove.
“How many acres do you own?” I ask as we walk together.
“Ten. Luckily, it’s never been annexed into the city, so I just pay state and county taxes for the land.”
“The others are that much more?”
“Yep, they’d be charged as buildable lots rather than farm acreage.”
I think about that as we continue.
There are so many things I don’t know about because I’ve been so sheltered.
And how badly I don’t want to go back to that.
I really don’t.
I can’t help but wonder how different things would be right now if my life took a detour.
What if I’d just told Mother to pound sand and stayed at Granny’s that last summer after high school?
Would I be a dancer somewhere else? Would I be someone totally different?
A wife? A mother? A rodeo clown?
Someone who wouldn’t be afraid to do what she wants—namely, press my lips to Quinn’s and let our tongues lead where they may.
God. The possibilities in a person’s life are like tree rings.
He takes my hand as we cross into the rougher terrain, stepping from boulder to boulder. We walk over fallen logs while crossing the creek several times as we head through the trees.
In my imagination, I go back to when we were teens. How I would’ve died a hundred times over just to have him hold my hand. My heart almost stopped forever that day I took a peach pie to the face and he was so good to me.
But he’d always been aloof, too.
That’s just who he is.
Kind, funny, handsome, and alpha as Hercules, but never ready to risk what we had.
Never ready to take our friendship further than the kids we were then, and the adults we’ve become.
I was just the tagalong little girl, his sidekick, wishing for more than a silly one-sided crush.
And here I am again.
Wishing, hoping, and praying for something I’m also scared to death to plunge into.
Once we step out of the trees, Owl barks and goes charging ahead to the pond, chasing two Canadian geese swimming near the shore. They take off at the last second with a few parting screw you honks.
“Wait. I recognize this place,” I murmur, slowing down. “It’s where your grandpa had his bee boxes, isn’t it?”