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)
Making myself close the door on his handsome, frowning face wasn’t easy, but I needed the space to kick myself for setting up a golden opportunity and then blowing it.
Why hadn’t I mentioned Jiminy? Why hadn’t I told him the plan?
Because he might react like Chick had when I’d told him about it. His knee-jerk reaction had been “Are you insane?” Followed by a long rant on the dangers of the evil automobile that lasted until I managed to calm him down and clarify my reasons, as well as the basics of the race. Chick had eventually gotten over it and was now on my side, but if Wade disagreed, something told me he wouldn’t be so easily persuaded. We didn’t have the same kind of relationship.
Why would he disagree?
I couldn’t think of a single reason. Still, I didn’t want to ruin things. We were getting along now. We said hello at least once a day. We’d texted a few times—he’d asked if I needed anything from the store when he was grocery shopping, and I’d told him our internet was back on after it had been off for two hours.
It wasn’t a budding forever friendship or a whirlwind romance or anything, but it was good, and I didn’t want to do anything to spoil it.
On the other hand, if I wanted in the race, I was going to have to chance it soon. Maybe even today. Although I had promised Wade two minutes ago that I wouldn’t bother them.
I headed for the coffee maker, still weighing the pros and cons, but hadn’t taken two steps when a loud ringing sounded from upstairs. From my computer.
“Crap. Morgan.”
Racing upstairs was a lot harder than walking down them, but I managed before the ringing stopped, accepting the call as I plopped heavily back down in my chair. Man, I was really out of shape.
“August?”
“Hi, Morgan,” I wheezed. “Sorry. In the kitchen. You look great today.”
She was rocking the natural look with no makeup and big sunglasses holding back the tight curls she’d stopped dyeing over five years ago—much to our mother’s chagrin, since she’d fought aging with a ferocity that was always funny and occasionally off-putting.
Morgan had welcomed it with zero classy fucks. Partly out of obstinance, and partly because the liberal silver actually made her look younger and enhanced her light brown skin and green eyes to perfection.
Currently she was at an outdoor bistro, a colorful scarf around her neck and a light breeze softly caressing her curls. There were sailboats moored behind her and misty hilltops looming in the distance as the sun set. She was a living, breathing advertisement for the joys of international travel.
“I was about to say the same thing.” The surprise in her voice only put a tiny dent in my pleasure at the compliment. “You’ve got color in your cheeks and you look like you’ve been working out. Did you start working out again?”
“I’ve been showering on the regular and I ran up the stairs, that’s all.”
That was not remotely all, but these daily calls weren’t the right place to tell her that Wade had moved into the apartment and resuscitated my dying libido along with my writing.
This was about where she was and what she was doing.
Without me.
“So, what was on the schedule today?” I asked, settling in for the detailed description she was always careful to give me.
She shook her head. “I’m more interested in what’s on the schedule tomorrow. I’m watching the weather because there’s a hurricane coming. It looks like it could hit by late afternoon.”
“It’s going to be a big one,” Gene warned off camera.
The sky behind her looked clear and beautiful, but a ball of sticky anxiety instantly coagulated in my stomach at her words. She was in a country shaped like a boot and surrounded by water. It might as well have been the Florida of Europe, and Florida never fared well during hurricane season.
“Tomorrow?” I parroted. “Have you talked to the airlines? Did they cancel the cruise yet?”
“Not here, August.” The look she gave me said I might be forced to write an essay on paying attention. “It’s coming toward you.”
Toward me?
I didn’t panic or open a window on my computer to look for The Weather Channel’s website.
Instead, I stared at my sister. “Let me get this straight. You’re calling from Italy to tell me about the weather here? You’re in Italy, Morgan. That’s all you should be thinking right now. You should wake up every morning and think, ‘Holy bananas, I’m in Italy.’”
“Holy bananas,” she repeated obediently, her lips twitching. “I was hoping you’d check on Ann and make sure she has everything she needs for the kids.”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll text her today.” And she’d text me back, very Ann-gressively, a thousand times. I’d verbified the dog sitter’s name because she wasn’t only aggressive on dates anymore. Her random texts to me about the dogs’ emotions and activities at any given moment were so numerous it bordered on harassment. Yesterday I’d learned that Tilly missed her human parents so much she was constipated, and Angus was humping the couch enough to wear a hole in it. Oh, and Ann thought it might be because of something the government put in the water.