Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Before they can say anything, because they’re my brothers and don’t know how to keep their mouths shut, I walk out and let the door slam shut behind me.
“Fuck,” I hear Patton yell.
Yeah, fair enough.
My head aches as I head back to the car. I don’t usually feel like this when it comes to Higher Ends, but this is one crisis where I have no idea what I’m doing.
Logically, I do. I know the next move. But this whole thing isn’t run by logic alone, and neither are my feelings.
Holy shit, what a mess.
And right now, it’s a disaster I can’t clean up.
I slam my hands against the steering wheel.
Colt’s text sits accusingly in my pocket.
Goddamn, I knew it was too good to be true.
Over the last few days, I thought everything with Winnie was settling down, but now this veneer of normality—the fucking art fair—feels like having a time bomb ticking away under the dinner table.
What will having a real relationship with a sweet, innocent young woman do to the people I love?
What the hell will this attraction to Winnie Emberly cost me?
21
BUSY LITTLE BEES (WINNIE)
Iwasn’t sure what to expect when Colt first told me about Delly’s art fair.
After meeting her and seeing her love for cardinals, I figured it would be stuff like that. Paintings, mostly, although he promised me bees.
But when we get there, the whole thing takes my breath away.
It’s that adorable.
Sure, there are tables and stands with more traditional art, but this time, Delly has brought an entire group of bee people. The stands take up half a block. Honey and wax makers and special handmade gift sets of balm people can take away.
The wooden carvings pump Colt up the most, but I get to talk to bee people all day. There’s no end to them, and it feels like the best thing to happen to me since the wedding—
minus Archer, of course.
Not that I tell them much about the purple honey.
With the bees in such a fragile place with just one hive left, I don’t want to risk attracting more attention.
Maybe next year, when they’re doing better, after the colonies are thriving again.
Then I catch myself.
‘Next year’ is a whopping promise I’m not sure I should make.
Even if Archer and I decide to explore what we’re meant to be, that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll still be living here. I have a whole life to figure out, including a new career since I’m done with the DC scene.
“Did you say your dad could meet us here?” I ask Colt.
“Yeah.” Colt looks unbothered. “He said he would.”
I check the time on my phone. Archer said he’d be here a while ago, and that’s okay, seeing how we hit him up on such short notice during a workday.
We’re all sprawled out on the grass by the river, resting on Delly’s thick handcrafted blankets.
I bought myself a beer and Colt a milkshake. I’ve got a thick handful of leaflets about beekeeping in northern Missouri in my bag.
If Archer were here, it would be perfection.
A minute later, he is, sitting beside me like he just materialized from my thoughts.
“Hey, you two,” he says with oddly low enthusiasm. “How’s it going?”
I kiss his cheek, but there’s something reserved about his voice.
Something cold that isn’t normally there.
My stomach sinks.
Is he having second thoughts?
Rejection always tastes the same, no matter who it comes from. Didn’t Colt say he was meeting Rina earlier today? Maybe it didn’t go well.
Or maybe it went too well.
My jaw clenches as my brain spins through horrible possibilities.
Lyssie’s parents were divorced for ten years before they reconnected and ended up getting married again. These things happen, especially when they share a kid.
Especially when a kid gets to be Colt’s age and they’re approaching early middle age—just in time to reevaluate life. The idea of being a family is a tempting one, I’m sure.
At least, it could be.
It’s not like I’m an expert with knowing what normal, loving families look like.
But Colt chatters on about all the cool carvings he’s seen and how excited he is about them. The latest piece from some place called Redhaven leaves him awestruck. It’s a giant crow, painted white, and the guy selling it couldn’t shut up about how he got to work with some famous local guy named Gerald Grey on it.
I stare at Archer’s hand, willing it to land on my leg like before.
I think he knows I like to feel him touching me, warm and secure and always sexy.
But it doesn’t.
No matter how much I stare, his hand doesn’t move.
Call it stupid that I’m disappointed.
It’s laughable that something so small could open this pit inside me, but it does.
“That sounds great, Colt,” he says, but there’s still this flatness in his voice. Something empty that makes my chest ache.
“Winnie had fun talking about bees,” Colt says proudly. “I thought it would be a good idea to bring her here.”