Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“And for Olive,” I whisper.
“Our girl has her entire life ahead of her.” She moves her glass from her thigh to the table. “She may decide to take over the business, or she might go to medical school. Maybe she’ll teach grade school.”
“The world is her oyster,” I agree with a nod.
“Olive and Celia would want you to do what’s best for you.” She reaches for my hand to squeeze it. “It’s time to think about that. Put Greer first.”
“That’s hard for me,” I say, my voice cracking as I think about Celia and every dream she never got to fulfill.
“Do you remember how long you debated going to The Hamptons?” She winks. “If you don’t, I’ll remind you. It was weeks, Greer. Weeks.”
She’s right. I did have a war brewing within me about that. Part of me didn’t want to leave Olive for that long, but the other part of me knew it was what I needed. After seven years, I needed a few days to catch my breath.
“You and Bruce are the reasons I did it,” I tell her.
“We’ll always be here for you.” She squeezes my hand again, tighter this time. “We want what’s best for you. You’re the one who needs to decide what that is without taking everyone else into consideration. Think about what you want your future to look like.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not sure about that.
I think I may want Holden Sheppard to be part of my future. The real question is, do I see him as a business partner or more?
Is there a chance he could be both?
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Holden
Unknown: We should talk.
I stare at my phone’s screen, hoping like hell I’m looking at a text message from Greer.
Just as I’m about to type out a response, asking the sender to confirm their identity, they shoot another message my way.
Unknown: It’s me. Summer Time.
I may be standing in the middle of the library, but I almost let out a loud “fuck, yeah!” I refrain not only because the librarian would give me hell, but I’m with Kirby, and the little angel always calls me out when I curse.
“You look happy, Uncle Holden.” She stares at me from where she’s been standing next to a shelf that houses her current reading obsession.
Lately, she’s been obsessed with a series of girl detective novels that her dad and mom are teaching her to read. Since I had a few hours free in my schedule today, and Rook had a last minute order to appear in court, I offered to bring Kirby here to return the books they had read together and to pick out a few new ones for the coming week.
“I’m always happy when I’m with you.”
Doubt taints her expression. “Are you texting a girl right now?”
I should be, but I don’t want Kirby to think I’m neglecting the very important process of picking out just the right books. I’m here for her.
“Not right now, no.” I smile. “I’ll text the nice lady back in a little bit.”
She closes the short distance between us with hurried steps. “Do you want to kiss the nice lady?”
Everywhere for hours, but I keep that to myself.
“I need to talk to the nice lady about business,” I tell her.
“What’s her name?”
“Greer,” I say without hesitating.
I may not share everything with Kirby, but I try not to put her in a position where she feels I’m keeping a secret from her.
We have a special bond that rivals the one she has with Rook’s brother, Milo. We both view the almost six-year-old as smart and intuitive. She trusts us to give her the straight facts whenever we can.
“I like that name.” Her blue eyes shift from my face to something behind me. “A boy from my day camp is here.”
“A good boy or a bully?” I ask, although I can tell by the way she’s smiling that the boy in question will land on Santa’s nice list this year.
Kirby likes him. That’s all I need to know.
“We should say hi to him, Kirbs.”
“What?” Her hand jumps up to cover her mouth. “No way.”
I steal a glance over my shoulder at a little boy with blond hair and a man with him who is sporting the same color hair. I’m not an expert at pinpointing family dynamics from afar, but something tells me that I’m looking at a dad and his son.
“What’s the problem?” I ask, keeping my tone even as I fight to keep a smile from creeping over my lips. “It’s good manners to say hi to someone you know when you see them.”
“Who says?”
“Me.” I perk a brow. “I’m a good manners expert.”
“I heard you tell my dad to get lost on the phone last week.” Her hands drop to her hips. “That’s bad manners.”