Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Sure,” I finally said. “I’d love to go to the blueberry festival with you.”
**********
What did one wear to a blueberry festival?
Something . . . summery, no doubt as it was . . . well, summer. The season of blueberries.
I rifled through my suitcase, sitting open on the luggage rack under the window. I had a strict no unpacking policy, a policy that discouraged ideas about settling in or growing too comfortable in one place, but unfortunately, encouraged a constantly wrinkled wardrobe.
Would blue make me look like I was trying too hard?
You are trying too hard, Haven.
With a huff of frustration at myself, I pulled the blue sundress over my head, smoothing out the creases as best as I could.
A knock sounded at my door and in response, I smiled, rushing forward and then pausing, opening it slowly. “You’re—”
It was my brother. “Early.” I withered. “Hey, Easton. I thought you’d already left for work.”
He came in, throwing himself on my bed. “No, I don’t have to work until noon today.”
“Oh,” I said, closing the door slowly. “Okay.” I glanced at the clock. If he was punctual, Travis wouldn’t be knocking on my door for ten minutes. “You’ve been scarce,” I said to my brother, leaning a hip against the—empty—dresser. “Where have you been?”
His eyes shifted strangely and my heart sank. What in the world was my troublemaking brother up to now?
He held a hand up. “I’m not causing trouble,” he said, as though he’d read my mind, which wasn’t difficult as it was usually the question that accompanied the lip-pursed look I was currently wearing. I relaxed my face. “I’ve been volunteering at the local fire house,” he said, an unusually sheepish look on his face.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Easton sat up and shrugged. “Fire . . . you know. Sensitive topic.” My heart missed a beat and whatever was on my face made him look down, taking the edge of the throw blanket and rubbing it between his fingers idly. “Listen,” he said, lifting his gaze again. “I think you should know something about that policeman. The one who lives here now.”
I released a pent-up breath. “He’s the chief of police. And I already know, Easton. He told me.”
Easton had the good grace to wince. “He’s crazy, Haven. Like bona fide crazy. He pulled a gun on me!”
“You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you! God, Easton, why? Why do you do those kinds of things? They hurt people. They ruin relationships. Families.”
“Maybe he should thank me for exposing his girlfriend for the cheating tramp she is.” He shot for bold but came up short, arriving at the intersection of sulky and immature instead.
“I think you’re missing the point. And I highly doubt you’ll be getting a thank-you from Travis Hale anytime soon.”
He looked down again, rubbing the fabric. “I know you’ve been hanging around with him. Which seems suspicious, considering what he obviously thinks of me.”
“He should see me as guilty by association? Because of your poor choices?”
Easton shrugged again, which ignited a spark of anger. If he was aware that his actions might have a negative impact on me, why did he keep behaving in the same manner, over and over again? God, he’d left a trail of mayhem in our path. Thank God we’d left all those places behind.
We’d been forced to leave those places behind.
“Just be careful of him,” he said. “Seriously. Something isn’t right about that guy. There’s something very wrong with him.” He stood up, and though he irritated and frustrated me regularly, my heart softened when he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, taking my hands in his, the burns on his palms raised yet smooth, a reminder of how he’d fought to save the only thing familiar to him, and had been—literally and figuratively—scarred.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Travis
The door swung open, revealing Haven in a blue sundress and white slip-on sandals, her hair pulled into a braid that trailed over her shoulder.
She looked young and fresh and so beautiful my breath stalled.
Had I really wondered if this girl was pretty?
She was no prom queen, true. She was more timeless than that. Botticelli. Aphrodite. Helen of Troy, sprang to mind.
I was almost confused, as though she might have pulled something over on me, and I didn’t know what or how, only that my first impression had been wildly off target.
I smiled. “Ready?”
Outside, she climbed into my truck and I turned out of the parking lot onto the road that led to the fairgrounds where the festival was being held.
The morning was bright and sunny, flickers of light dancing on the lake, not a cloud in the clear blue sky.
And a pretty friend in a sundress that showed off her slim tanned legs, and her smooth shoulders, sitting next to me, her hands grasped in her lap.