Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“Sucks learning you’re about to be schooled, doesn’t it?”
“Unlikely.”
“Bet on it,” Banks says, running faster.
But I keep a fast clip too. “Race you to town.”
“You wish you could keep up.”
For several hundred feet, I stay in front of him, but barely. As we pass a horse farm, where a chestnut beauty munches on grass by the white slats of the fence, Banks closes the distance between us.
Dammit.
A few blocks later, the houses fade, turning into quaint burger shacks and bougie cafés along the outskirts of town, not far from the beach.
“Like I said,” he quips and then hits a stride a few paces in front of me.
My lungs burn, my thighs ache, and sure, he’s a bodyguard for a living, and I’m a businessman. But like I’d let him win. As we near town, I push myself, my legs eating the pavement until I catch up right as we pass Prohibition Spirit. The whiskey bar marks the edge of town, and once we’re past it, we turn onto Main Street.
“You were saying?” I ask as I pass him by a second.
“Fuck you,” he calls out. “I said, ‘fuck you.’”
“And I believe that loosely translates to welcome to town,” I deadpan, my chest still on fire as I slow down, having hit the three miles. Down the block, a few people in aprons set up outdoor tables at Pick Me Up. Past that, the florist arranges bouquets in front of her shop, setting out gorgeous pink, orange, and white flowers. I wonder which ones Chloe likes best? She seems like a yellow tulip person. Or orange. Or, hell, she seems like an all-tulip fan.
At the inn, a couple heads down the steps, a camera slung around her neck, his hand gripping a map as he points farther down the street. I bet they’re heading to The Slippery Dipper, the lotions and potions shop down the road. It sports a sign in its front window reading: Yes, that scene was shot here.
“That scene” hails from Someone Else’s Ring, the movie Banks worked security on. That’s how he met Ripley, who was assigned a bodyguard to protect her since her identical twin sister was the lead.
“How are you finding Darling Springs?” he asks me, slowing his pace, too, as we cool down with a walk in the summer-morning air.
That’s a good question. I’m not entirely new to the town. I’d been to Darling Springs a few times before I moved. I’ve had business here over the years, stopping by for client meetings now and then, and to see my sister, since she and her husband have a place up here that they use for couples retreats—they’re dating podcasters. I picked this town for Dog Tails for many reasons—my analysis said it had the clientele to support a bougie dog daycare, and since it’s also close enough to my other locations that I can swing by San Francisco or Lucky Falls once or twice a month to visit the Dog Tails there, and I’ve been to both in the past week. But the point of hiring good people is that I don’t need to go back to babysit each location. I also picked Darling Springs because it seemed like the right place for a change for me. Trouble is I don’t entirely trust my choices these days, so I hedge my bets as I answer with, “I can’t complain.”
“That’s hardly a ringing endorsement, even from the king of understatements,” he says.
I scratch my beard, weighing the question. I’m not trying to be evasive. It’s just…“I’m someone who takes a while to decide if I like something.”
“Dude, it’s a town,” Banks says, like my reserving judgment is ridiculous.
“Did you fall in love with it right away?” I counter.
“Fair point.” He sighs thoughtfully. “I liked it, but seeing it through Ripley’s eyes over time? That made me fall in love with it. Can’t imagine being anyplace else now.”
Something warms in my chest. Something steady. A sense of rightness—calm even. I want that. I crave that. I’m not there yet though. It’s too soon to fall for anything. But maybe in the near future? “That sounds nice. I’d had enough of the city. It reminded me of…”
I trail off, not sure I want to go there, but Banks waits patiently for me to finish as we walk.
“Of the life I’d planned with Katya,” I say, finishing at last. Better to keep facing it and all.
“I hear ya,” he says with a pensive note in his voice. “Sometimes you just need a place where…nobody knows your story.”
“Exactly. Somewhere that’s a blank slate,” I say, which is why I need to be careful with the next hundred and sixty-eight hours. And the week after that, and the one after that. Working with a woman I wanted a second date with—if not right away, then in the future—is tempting as hell for a guy in my situation.