Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“Biker gardeners?” I ask incredulously. Although… That would make a funny cozy mystery setup. I file it away for later.
“Something wrong with that?” Blackout asks. “Only difference between a garden and a farm is how much fucking land you use, and nobody talks shit about a guy for being a farmer.”
I raise my hands in apology. “Fair point.”
That doesn’t mean I believe a word of what they’re telling me. They’re no more farmers than I am queen of Norway.
But… If they’re actually volunteering to do the heavy lifting, that would save me lots of time and tears. And my desk does overlook the backyard. I managed to write more after their last visit than I had in a month. There are worse views to look at while trying to write about sexy men.
Skyhigh cocks his head, blue eyes flashing in challenge. “So, you going to show us what to do? Or are you so fucking stubborn that you’d rather break your pretty back doing what we can finish by the end of the week?”
Ooooh, that almost makes me want to throw the offer back in his sexy, smug face, but now it would just make me look petty. “Fine. Follow me. I’ll show you where the tools are.” I give them a significant look. “The other tools, I mean.”
5
WILLOW
“Happy birthday, Willow! Welcome to the last year of your early twenties!” Grace declares with a giggle, raising her glass. In the distance, motorcycles roar, the low growl of the engines getting progressively louder. “Starting next year, all you’re going to start hearing is, “When are you getting married?” and, “Your eggs aren’t getting any younger, you know.”
I pretend to sob for a second before laughing and downing the rest of my champagne. The bubbles go straight to my head. “Oh, please. If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them to check for a best by date when they kiss my ass.”
Terry throws back his head and laughs. “Damn, I want to be there to see it. Are your parents pushing for you to settle down now that you have the house?”
That’s a question that would require a whole new bottle of champagne to answer, and it would just drag the mood down. I shake my head. “Not really. They’re uh… free spirits.”
So free they didn’t even call me for my birthday. They’re always busy, or somewhere they insist phones don’t work, but the truth is they’re just living in their own world and it doesn’t occur to them. Last I heard they were working at a meditation retreat in Thailand in exchange for a place to live. The place offers live streamed classes, so I know they could contact me if they remembered. They will eventually, but it could take a day or a month.
Grace puts a hand on Terry’s leg and throws me a glance of sympathy. She knows a lot more about my parents than he does and I suspect she’ll update him later.
A sudden blast of gunfire from the Outlaw Sons compound has us all jumping and ducking. It’s followed by several more in quick succession and a whoop of laughter which is my cue to relax. She and Terry aren’t used to it though. They are visibly terrified.
“What the hell was that?” Terry asks.
“The bikers have a firing range,” I say, like it’s a completely normal thing to have to deal with.
Grace looks horrified. “HERE? Is that legal? That can’t be legal.”
“Probably not, but I called the police when I first moved in and they laughed at me. Told me I could complain to them myself if I wanted to.” I take a gulp of champagne. “You kind of get used to it after a while.”
“Really?”
“No, not really, but they aren’t going anywhere and neither am I.”
More motorcycles roar past, and then in the distance, the heavy beat of music kicks up. I can’t hear the song, but I can feel the bass vibrating through my ribcage. Terry and Grace look at each other, silently communicating in the annoying way people in love do, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess what it’s about.
Grace puts down her glass. “Maybe we should go. It’s getting kind of late…”
“It’s not even midnight. They’re not going to bother us,” I plead, but I can see on their faces that they want to get out of biker central.
“She’s right,” Terry says apologetically. “We couldn’t have stayed much later anyway. I have a shift in the morning. Are you going to be okay? If you want, you can come back with us and crash on the couch.”
The back window rattles when a flurry of gunshots punctuate the night. Grace plasters herself against Terry’s side, and he puts an arm around her. I bet Skyhigh, Blackout and Dragon are up there having the time of their lives while I’m just trying to get one nice evening for my birthday.