Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
“I wanted you to know I’ve landed on my feet again and I’m safe.”
“Are you sure? Where are you staying? I’ll wire you a bit of cash,” I promise.
One day, she stopped showing up for work. I checked out the address she’d put on her application form and discovered a vacant lot on the edge of Asheville. That was the moment I understood she was more than just skittish or shy. She was running from someone.
She chuckles at my concern. “I’m fine. I’m…with a friend.”
I grunt. “What kind of friend?”
She finally showed up after about a week of being missing to collect her last paycheck. She looked disheveled and scared. But no matter what I said, I couldn’t get her to tell me what was going on. Finally, I just cashed her paycheck and gave her as much cash as I could gather. She left on the first bus out of Mount Bliss and I haven’t heard from her since.
I grunt. “What kind of friend?”
She answers far too casually, “A man friend.”
“Do I need to come to where you are and kick his ass? I’ll kick his ass if he makes you cry. You tell him that. Better yet, you put him on the phone.”
She chuckles again, the sound light and airy. She seems more relaxed than she ever was when she was working at the pub. “I have to go. Thanks for always looking out for me.”
I sigh. “Just be careful. Call me if you need anything. I’ll come pick you up even if I have to cross oceans.”
“I’ll call you when I can,” she promises as she hangs up.
I stare at my phone after our conversation, hoping and praying that she’s finally found a place she can be still. A home of her very own.
Lyla
After packing my things back into my suitcase and putting a load of laundry in the washer upstairs, I hurry back to my kitchen. The bell in the front rings and I step around the counter, a teasing remark on my lips.
But it’s not Amos standing there in the center of my donut bakery.
It’s Jamie.
My stomach tightens. Why did he have to come here today? Why does he always have to show up and tell me what to do?
He gives me a condescending smile. “The place looks nice, little Lyla.” It’s always been his nickname for me. It was cute when I was eight. Now, it’s just annoying.
“What are you doing here?” Even as I ask the question, I already know. He’s checking up on me. Being his typical overprotective and controlling self.
“Who pissed in your cornflakes today?” He demands with a scowl.
“You did this,” I gesture around the shop. “You arranged the loan I needed and had my shop approved with the city.”
“I’ll be honest. I’d hoped for a little bit of gratitude.” There’s a hardness in Jamie’s blue gaze that I’ve never noticed before.
“Why? Why did you have to go behind my back and do everything for me? Why couldn’t you let me stand on my own two feet?” I cross my arms over my chest and brace myself.
“Who told you this?” He frowns. “Did Amos open his big mouth?”
“Don’t blame him when you’re the one who went behind my back,” I defend. I won’t let Amos come under fire for this. The argument is between me and Jamie. “Just tell me why you did it.”
“Because you’re a stupid kid who doesn’t know fuck-all about living a day in the real world!” He yells.
I blink, not having expected the outburst from my usually cool and in control older brother. Does he really think that about me?
Before I can respond, the door to the shop swings open and Amos is stepping inside. Fire dances in his gaze and he levels Jamie with a furious look. “Don’t you ever raise your voice at my future wife again.”
Jamie looks between the two of us and shakes his head. “You fucked my little sister?”
Amos takes a step toward his best friend, his chest heaving. “You watch your mouth when you talk about her.”
I move closer, stepping between the two. I put a hand on Amos’s chest. “I can hold my own against him.”
When he looks at me, something in his gaze softens. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“Look, you want to play bakery for a few months, fine. Hell, you want to spread your legs for my friend—”
Amos slides me behind his back in one smooth motion then his fist is connecting with Jamie’s chin. His head snaps back, hitting the wall.
I gasp. I didn’t want him to hit my brother even if he was being a douchebag. But I also know that Amos would never forgive himself if he didn’t defend me.
“You get the hell out of her shop,” Amos says. “You set foot in here again with her permission and even then only when I’m present as well. You got that?”