Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“I had a long talk with Cathy today,” he says, the corner of his lips lifting.
“Oh, really? What about?”
“About what happens after the wedding.”
My brows furrow as I look up at him. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, you see, I’ve never had a woman around before—certainly not living with me. And she wanted to know what you, as the woman of the house, wanted from her.”
Me? Woman of the house?
I force a swallow and switch my attention to the band. It’s a small group, and I don’t know a lot about music, but it sounds pretty good. And the people around us seem to be enjoying themselves, too. It’s easy to tell when you can see their smiles … because they’re looking straight at you.
Oof.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” I say, turning back to Hartley.
“She doesn’t want to step on your toes, that’s all.”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t want to come in and change how you run your home. I’m sure however you do it now is fine.”
His eyes soften, but a shield is up. “It’ll be your home, too. At least for the next twelve months.”
“Which is why I don’t want to get in the way,” I say carefully.
He nods, taking a breath, before he opens the picnic basket.
Our exchange hangs in the air as he takes out two glass bottles of Coke and an assortment of snacks. I replay our exchange a few times, trying to figure out what part of it went wrong. I’m not going to be there after our divorce—something I never thought I’d have and that feels wrong to consider—and I was just trying to be respectful of his space.
But maybe it’s important to Hartley that I feel comfortable in his home. That would be on par for him.
“You know what?” I say, taking a slice of a pinwheel from a container. “It’s impossible to know what I’d like her to do until I move in. And I’m sure she’ll be helpful in getting to know your routine a little better.”
I knock his shoulder with mine, making him smile.
“Hey! Can I have one?” A little red-haired boy stops in front of us. A ball is tucked under his arm as he smiles a wide, toothless smile at Hartley. “I love sandwiches.”
“Sure.” He takes two pieces and hands them to the boy. “Is that enough?”
“Yup! Thanks!” He runs off, shoving both pieces into his mouth with his dirty little hands.
“I guess stranger danger isn’t a thing here anymore,” I say, laughing. “I remember getting that beat into us when we were little kids.”
“I know that kid. That’s Cody.” He looks up in the direction the boy ran and nods. “His dad works at the feed store. Tucker Lewis. Remember him? He was a grade ahead of us in school.”
A light bulb goes off in my head. “Oh, yeah. I do remember him. He always wore that big belt buckle, and everyone called him Bucky.”
Hartley laughs. “I forgot about that.”
“A bunch of memories are coming back to me. Do you remember the night we all went out to the train trestle? And Brooks was trying to get someone to bet him that he could run across it without falling into the river.”
“I forgot about that. What an idiot.”
I giggle, remembering all the shenanigans from the past. I haven’t thought about these things in such a long time that it almost feels like a different lifetime. The people, the places—I had a whole life here at one point, and now I hardly know anyone, it seems. Why does that feel so weird?
“Oh, my goodness,” Wendy Watters says, stopping in front of us. I remember her well. Class president, cheerleader, and altogether good person. I always liked Wendy. “It’s so good to see you, Mira. How have you been?” She glances at Hartley and smirks. “Aside from the obvious, of course.”
I shrug happily. “I’m good. Things are good. How are you? You look fantastic.”
Her smile stretches from ear to ear. “Thank you. I had my last birthday and gained ten pounds and acne. How is that fair?” She sighs. “Add in two kids and a husband, and I have a few gray hairs, too.”
“I’ve heard gray hairs come with the husband and kids’ territory.”
“From what I hear,” she says, like we’re sharing a secret, “you’re about to find out all about that.”
That’s a segue if I’ve ever heard one.
Hartley lazily places a hand behind me, so it appears like I’m tucked against his side. I am closer, the distance between our bodies wide enough to maybe slide a piece of paper through. My heart pounds beneath my ribs as I breathe him in. He, on the other hand, feels as steady as ever.
“You heard right,” I say, resting my head against Hartley’s shoulder. “We’re getting married this week.”