Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Mommy.”
I look back between the seats to see Jacob raising his arms toward me and kicking his feet. “I’m only stopping for a minute, sweetie.” I roll the windows down because he likes to wave his hand out the opening. That might give me a minute or two to entertain the vision I just had.
Peering through the windshield at the structure, it’s not large, but it’s a nice size, and the clearing next to it could add more space. What am I doing? This will never get approved. I’m lucky my dad agreed to the charity game because raising money for other people initially left a bad taste in his mouth. It only got green-lit after a lengthy argument and a ten-minute PowerPoint presentation on how it would benefit the business.
“Hi there.” A man’s voice draws me to look through the open driver’s side window. He tilts his head as if he’s trying to get a good look at me from under the bill of his St. Louis Cardinals cap. Small world, or maybe he’s only someone who supports the hometown hero? I’m thinking there are many coincidences this side of Dover County. “How’s it going?” He stops just a few feet back, leaving plenty of space between us.
“I’m good. You?”
He chuckles. “I’m great. Stopping by to see the progress?”
“Yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve been out here during the daylight to see all that’s going on. Looks great.”
“Thanks.” He glances at the building in front of me that appears to eventually be two commercial spaces in total. When he turns back, the sun is in his eyes, highlighting shocking blues that remind me so much of Griffin’s. I’m not catching exact features, but they share some similarities. This guy’s size for one. The color of his hair peeking out under the ball cap. His smile has a charm about it, and his demeanor is easygoing. The former is a dead giveaway, yet the latter is not like Griffin at all. I inwardly laugh. Though he’s gotten more laid-back with each passing day, and he relaxes the more time we spend together. Last night reminded me of that guy I met in Jaco Beach.
I think it’s safe to assume this guy and Griffin are related. Both are tall, affable when they want to be. Handsome, but in their own ways.
He comes closer with his hand held out. “I’m Baylor Greene. I own these properties. You looking for a space to rent?”
My smile is quicker than the question leaving his mouth when I hear his last name. “Hi, Baylor.” Reaching through the window, I shake his hand. “I’m Cricket.” Probably best if I leave my last name out of this. “I wasn’t, but when I saw it, I started getting ideas.”
“Hi,” Jacob says, his voice so sweet and happy. It’s cute that he’s such a people person.
Hearing my son, Baylor peers from beside the car into the back seat. “Hi.” He waves. Glancing back at me, he says, “Cute kid. How old is he?”
“Three, but he turns four in two weeks.”
“That’s a fun age. My niece Daisy is three.” Sort of laughing to himself, he reveals more curiosity. “They could be twins.”
I sit straighter and glance back at Jacob again and then at Baylor. “Oh?” I want to gobble up all the Greene information I can get, but is it wrong to hear it from someone other than Griffin? I hope not.
His hand makes a motion above his head, looking back at Jacob. “Yeah, same hair—that light blond with some curls. But his eyes really do look like hers, shape and all.” When his attention turns to me, he asks, “You from around here?”
“Dover Creek.”
He’s good at hiding most of the descent of his smile, trying his best to prop it up. I should laugh that where I grew up evokes such a strong reaction from the neighboring town. But I’m not entirely surprised since most people I know react the same when they hear Peachtree Pass. What is it with this rivalry?
“So not too far.”
“No, not far.”
Gesturing toward the building, he asks, “What are you thinking for the space?”
“I wasn’t until I saw it, so it’s not a thoroughly thought-out plan, but a tasting room for Dover Creek Wines came to mind.”
“Hill Country wines are growing in popularity.” He glances at the potential shop. “It’s not a bad idea.” He digs a card out of his back pocket and hands it to me. “If you’re interested, give me a call or send me a text. I can show you the plans. It’s early enough to customize at this stage if you’re looking for something special.”
I look at the card and his details, but it’s the last name that stands out most to me. Dropping it into the cup holder, I turn back to see him take a few steps back. He looks at the building again, and then says, “We have a lot of interest.” His smirk is a dead giveaway for another one I’m very familiar with. “It’s not a sales pitch to pressure you. We’ve just gotten a better response than expected.”