Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
That probably explained why he spent so much time in the doghouse.
“That’s a rumor started by insecure men who need coddling,” Chick said dryly, earning an interested look from Kingston. “If it’s the right man, women love to be chased.”
“As long as it’s consensual,” Bernie added, “otherwise it’s stalking.”
“Only females under thirty love a mystery man,” Morgan agreed with an amused look. “The rest of us have smartened up and want something different.”
Honesty, orgasms and comfortable shoes, I’d heard. “I appreciate all this input I didn’t ask for.”
They knew better and so did I. I loved the hell out of them all, but right now, August was the only one I could think about.
“Excuse me?” The leader of another group of paddock wanderers waved to get our attention. “Could you all move out of the way? We want to take a selfie with 71.”
“I’ll be back,” I said to no one in particular, escaping before I could get sucked into another discussion that wasn’t about the race or what my life was going to look like after it.
Rick said she’d been heading toward the parking lot. I’d start there.
I strode through the forest of trailers and campers that would transform into a small community campground as soon as the day was over, rudely ignoring everyone who recognized me and waved or called my name.
They were all good people and I’d apologize later. Right now, I needed to get to August and find out what was spooking her. And then I needed to make my confession.
I still hadn’t been completely honest with her, and it had been rubbing me the wrong way all day. I hadn’t told her how I really felt about her or how long I’d been feeling it. I hadn’t told her that the last few months had been the happiest I’d ever had, that I was crazy in love with her, and that I needed her to start thinking about the future again instead of just living in the moment, so I could find a way to be a part of it.
After she’d opened up enough to let me in, I’d realized that all my worries about becoming my father were bullshit. The people I loved would always be important to me, and August was one of those people now.
If— When her books took off and she needed to travel, I wanted to split my time between joining her and keeping the home fires burning. If she wanted to buy the damn RV from Chick and start wandering the countryside, I would be there beside her.
I wouldn’t lie and say I didn’t want to keep the house as our home base, but it seemed I was becoming more adaptable in my old age. Forty-nine now. I could take a breath and live a little. Take some risks. With her.
You have to tell her.
This race had been my mental line in the sand. I’d been giving us time to get used to living together. Giving myself time to get over my own hang-ups. But that time was now up.
“Do you mind?” I asked, snagging a water bottle from a random open cooler, not surprised at the genial nod I got in response. It was a mellow crowd, for a bunch of adrenaline junkies.
I reached the parking lot and saw her pacing next to her CRV. Her curls were held back in two French braids and she wore a cute pair of denim overalls over her cooling suit.
She was talking to herself, and I stopped to watch as tenderness filled my chest and wedged itself around my heart. She did that a lot—talked to herself when she was working on a story or a problem, or just wandering around the house with the dogs.
I loved that.
I loved seeing her dolled up for work at the icehouse one day and sitting at her computer with mismatched socks and three forgotten drinks on her desk the next.
I loved the way she could be in the middle of falling apart and set her problems aside the minute someone else needed her, the way she had with Todd and my niece.
I loved how she liked the way words sounded and edited herself mid-conversation to pick a better one.
I especially loved the way she crashed into sleep, and how lost she looked every time she woke up, like she’d been somewhere far away and couldn’t remember how she’d gotten back. And how, when her eyes finally focused on me, her smile always said she wasn’t at all mad about the change in location.
The more I knew about August Retta, the more I loved.
It wasn’t the idea of her anymore. It was the reality I was in love with. The funny, anxious, reaction-video-watching, reality-challenged siren who teased me for wearing a headlamp and keeping extra caulk in the garage. The woman who could still blush five minutes after she’d dragged me to the bedroom for “research.” The woman who loved me covered in engine grease. Who refused to give up a twenty-year-old car named Myrtle because they’d bonded.