Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Juno and Birdie are currently trying to outdo each other as the toughest female in the world. I’m hanging at the kitchen island, enjoying this way too much.
“I once had to eat dinner sitting on a concrete dock at two in the morning because the boat captain forgot to secure the galley,” Birdie says casually, scrubbing a plate like this is perfectly normal conversation. “Cold beans straight out of a can. No utensils. Gravity and a lot of slurping.”
Juno pauses mid silverware stack. “Honestly, I’ve heard worse.”
Birdie snorts. “I think not. A seal kept staring at me like I owed him money.”
Juno cackles—a sound that isn’t as off-putting as one would think—and bumps Birdie with her hip. “Now that is classic. You win.”
“Of course I win,” Birdie says, chin lifted like she’s royalty. “I’m made of awesome.”
I rub a hand over my face, groaning audibly. “Why are you like this?”
My sister glances over her shoulder, entirely unrepentant. “Because my job is objectively cooler than yours.”
Juno watches the interplay with an amused glitter in her eye. She doesn’t have siblings and part of me wonders if she’s sad not to have that experience. Of course, if she spent a week with Birdie, she might think otherwise.
“That’s debatable,” I mutter. “I don’t see a documentary film crew showing up at your doorstep for an interview.”
“Well, they should.” She hands Juno a plate. “When was the last time your work involved controlled explosions or a decompression chamber the size of a coffin?”
Juno’s mouth curves. “I must hear more about your job, but it sounds like it should be done over beers and nachos.”
“Agreed,” Birdie says with a resounding nod, and then waves her dish towel at me. “See? She listens. That’s why I like her.”
I glance between them—my sister so over the top and Juno calmly restoring order to my kitchen—and I cannot believe how relaxed I am. I haven’t thought about the interview all night, even while we sat around my dining room table and swapped stories.
“Okay,” Juno says lightly, glancing at her watch. “We can do this whenever you’re ready. No rush.”
I push up from my stool, noting that I don’t feel a single ounce of angst over having the camera lens on me. Somehow, Juno has managed to take me from outright denial and skepticism to a sort of eager curiosity to see her in action. “No time like the present,” I say.
Birdie’s eyes flick between me and Juno with open amusement, perceptive in that way that’s always made me feel twelve years old again.
“You nervous, goalie?” Juno asks lightly.
“No,” I answer too quickly.
She lifts one brow. Beautifully arched, full of skepticism. “Sure.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve faced down breakaways in overtime more fearsome than you. I think I can handle a conversation.”
Birdie snorts. “You freeze ordering coffee if the barista asks a follow-up question.”
“That was one time,” I grumble.
Juno’s mouth quirks as she neatly drapes the damp towel on a hook by the sink. “Let’s go see if Evan has everything set up.”
Birdie pushes off the counter and grins, already heading in that direction. “This is going to be so good.”
“You’re not invited,” I say sternly, knowing she will ignore me and absolutely watch every minute of this.
She waves me off. “Relax. I’ll behave.” Then, louder, to Juno, “Mostly.”
Juno laughs softly and the sound does something unexpected. It settles me in a way I didn’t know I needed.
I lead them down the short hallway, past the guest room Birdie’s claimed for her stay, and angle toward the back of the house. The space opens up through wide glass doors, the interior giving way to the covered patio beyond.
Outside, the pool glows a soft blue against the dark. Submerged lights create rippling reflections across stone and wood. The entire yard glows with uplighting under all the formal landscaping. Beyond that, the backyard stretches out into dark woods that separate me from my neighbors. It feels private and contained, like the world ends beyond the pool.
“You need anything else?” I ask Evan, who is adjusting a light on a narrow stand off to the side. It has a flat square panel no bigger than a laptop screen and when he switches it on, it throws a soft, even wash across the patio. His camera is already set up on a sturdy tripod.
“I’m going to put you in that chair,” he says, pointing to one he angled beside the outdoor fireplace, in which there is a fire going. “It creates a nice mood, don’t you think?”
“Should I get my smoking jacket and pipe?” I ask as I settle into the chair.
Evan snorts. “You do you, man.”
Juno perches on the edge of the armchair opposite me that Evan must have arranged, a notebook closed on her lap, posture relaxed but attentive.
Birdie drops onto one of the couches set perpendicular to me, but as soon as her butt hits the cushion, she pops back up again. “Wait… hold on.” She crosses over to me quickly and brushes a lock of hair off my forehead. “There, that’s better.”