Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
She made more friends within a day in my hometown than I had in my whole life. I wasn’t shocked by this, seeing how being an introvert was my superpower. At a point in my life as a kid, I wanted friends. The older I grew, the more I realized life was a lot easier without people around. If anything, I’d much prefer the company of a dog. They never brought much drama along with them, not like people did.
Willow, though, thrived in the company of humans. As I sat outside Pete’s diner, waiting for her to pick up her dinner, I watched her laugh her head off with Ms. Jerkins. That was surprising to me because Ms. Jerkins was laughing with Willow. I couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, I’d heard Ms. Jerkins actually chuckle. All I knew about her was that she was the grumpy old lady who lived on the corner of Race Street and Harrod Avenue, who was always telling kids to stay the hell off her lawn.
It was as if Willow had a natural talent for making people feel seen and safe around her—even the grumpiest souls.
“I can definitely stop by and help you water your plants tomorrow. It’s not a problem at all,” Willow told Ms. Jerkins before hugging her goodbye. Then Willow danced back over toward me on her tiptoes because that was how she moved—as if she were floating through life.
Fucking fairy.
“Sorry about that,” she said, smiling my way. “I just met Dolores. Do you know her?”
“I know everyone in this town.”
“How many of them know you?”
None.
I don’t let people get that close.
I didn’t reply to her. She didn’t seem to mind.
“I love small towns.” She smiled. “This one is like the small town I grew up in. Where everybody knows your first, middle, and last name.”
“You’re from a small town?” Why did I ask that? I didn’t care.
“Yes. Honey Creek, Illinois. Home of the best gossips you’ll ever meet.”
I glanced around toward the group of women looking in Willow’s and my direction. “I bet the people of Westin Lake would give you a run for your money. What made you leave your small town?” Why did I ask that? I didn’t care.
She paused for a moment, seemingly growing somber before she answered. “I outgrew it.”
“Fair enough.” I stood from the table. “Ready to head back to my place?”
Before she could reply, a person called out behind me. “Well, if it isn’t the talk of the town.”
Every hair on my body stood up when I recognized the voice. I turned around to find Peter, my cousin, standing behind me. He looked exactly how he always had—like a fucking asshole. Peter was five years older than me and my only cousin. He had a kid named Jensen, whom I looked after every now and again. Jensen was about fourteen and was the complete opposite of his father. The kid didn’t know it yet, but that would be one of his strongest traits down the line—that he was nothing like the piece of shit who raised him.
Peter moved through life with a heavy level of smugness to him even though he didn’t have the life success to match said uppity personality. He peaked in high school and never really advanced past the asshole jock phase of his life. Being a young dad probably didn’t help his arrested development, either. Peter didn’t have to work for much of anything in life because his parents spoiled the everlasting shit out of him as if he wasn’t a thirty-something-year-old. The only thing he truly had going for him was his good looks and his high school quarterback stories about when they went to state.
Oh, and shagging my ex-girlfriend.
Peter’s eyes moved toward Willow. He eyed her up and down as if she were the fresh meat on the deli line, and that instantly pissed me off. Sure, I had no reason to be overprotective of Willow, but the last thing she needed was a dick like Peter coming on to her. And that was exactly what he’d do—come on to her. Especially since he’d noticed Willow was with me.
I didn’t know where the competition between Peter and me rose from. Truthfully, when we were young, I looked up to the guy. I thought he was the coolest, strongest person in our town. I envied how women—of all types—were enamored with him. When I was at my worst with being bullied for my speech and looks, all I used to think about was how I wished I could be just like Peter. Cool, calm, and collected. Liked by everyone. Handsome. Strong. When I first started going to the gym, my first and only thought was WWPD. What would Peter do?
It wasn’t until a few years later that my rose-colored glasses were taken off, and I learned that my cousin crafted the nicknames the bullies called me. I never really got over that betrayal. I thought family members were supposed to be better than others, but sometimes it appeared that they were the ones who could hurt you the most.