Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“I think you love her.” Boom! He just lays it out like it is. I both respect and fear this kid. He’s going to be top-notch at anything he chooses to do with his life. I stare at him, unsure what to say to that. He says, “I saw my dad go through the same thing with Christine. He changed. I saw it before he did.”
“How did he change?” Am I really asking this kid for life advice to see if it pertains to me? Why yes. Yes, I am.
He shrugs. “My mom says I get all wound up when I have too much sugar. You’re different than that. I don’t know the word. Christine loves the evenings on the front porch. She says it’s peaceful. That’s the only way I know how to describe it. Peaceful.”
He sees right through me. It makes me wonder if everyone back home will and if our marriage is a secret I can keep much longer. “Is the photo real, Uncle Baylor?”
It’s not even eight in the morning, too early to have such a deep conversation about my life. But since we’re here, I ask, “Can you keep a secret?”
CHAPTER 31
Lauralee
The diamond catches the light, sending tiny rainbow caustics scattering across the walls of my bedroom. I only get to wear my rings when I’m alone, so I put them on as soon as I walk in the door.
Admiring the pretty on my finger, I don’t know how metal and stone manage to make me feel closer to Baylor, but they do. That’s the upside to wearing them every day in private, but what about outside the house? Do I dare? I can’t. Not yet.
The secret remains hidden from the outside world, but we need to decide when to go public. Something to add to the growing list of things to discuss while he’s visiting.
Visiting . . . I hate that his stays are only temporary. I won’t pressure him to choose me or Peachtree Pass, but I still hold out hope that he will during this transition. Though I have no right since his work is in the city and I’m sure he has job offers piling up because he’s so successful and now a free agent. Call me selfish, I suppose, for wanting him living here instead of only visiting me. Maybe this transition in his career can lead back to me.
A girl can dream.
I check the time before rushing to the bathroom to touch up my makeup, brush my teeth, and try to unknot my hair before he arrives. It’s tempting to pour a glass of wine to calm my nervous energy. It’s only been five days since I’ve seen him, but my excitement has me ready to burst.
I’m not sure if I want to kiss him, seduce him, or cuddle. All of it and more, like feed him. The urge I have inside to take care of this man is off the charts. And it seemed to hit out of nowhere. But my gut tells me it started the moment he said I do. I was done for—heart and soul—wild about him.
A knock has me running to the door. As soon as I pull it open, I’m captured in his arms, my lips pressed to his, and he kicks the door closed. Before I know it, we’re moving toward the bedroom. Guess the decision has been made.
He drops me on the bed, his gaze traveling from mine to my chest, and then lower as he unbuttons his shirt. I lie there grinning up at him. Letting my gaze dip to his midsection, I meet his eyes again, and ask, “Happy to see me, stud?”
“You could say that.” Tugging his jeans down, he asks, “Are you going to get undressed, or want me to do it?”
“I was hoping—” Another knock on the door startles me upright.
Baylor pulls his jeans back up, buttoning the top when he whispers, “Who is that?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, moving to the bedroom doorway. “Hello?”
“Honey, it’s me, Mom.”
My mouth drops open as I turn back to him. He scrambles to scoop up his clothes as I wave him to hide in the bathroom. “Be right there, Mom.” I look back at him, and silently plead, “Please tell me you locked the door.”
“Nope.” He hustles into the bathroom as I move to answer my mom.
Running my hands over my cheeks, I clear any flyaways, then pull the door open. “Hi, what brings you by?”
She looks so happy to see me standing on the patio that I feel bad for not offering to let her in. “I was heading over to Margaret’s and decided to bring by the mail that collected at the house while you were gone in Austin.” She hands me the stack, and then asks, “Not letting me in? I was hoping to use the bathroom.”