Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“That’s none of your business.”
“Umm Pops, hate to say this but we work together, you live within three houses of me, and we talk about bills, bitches, and everything in between. You’re my dad, the only parent Bub and I have left. The only grandparent my kids have involved in their lives. Yeah, everything you do is my business. Why are you this irritated?” she asks hands flying up. “You’re a menace right now. Even the guys at the clubhouse said they’ve never seen you this twitchy.”
“I’m not twitchy.”
“You’re twitchy like a cat staring at a feather toy moving.”
I run both hands down my face. “Tiffany.”
“No. Enough. Who is she to you?”
I shouldn’t answer.
I don’t want to answer.
I don’t even know how to answer.
“She’s…” I start.
Honey waits.
I close my eyes. “She’s someone I can’t explain.”
Her expression softens instantly. “Oh. Okay. Wow. That’s… new.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, chest tight. “Tell me about it.”
“Did something happen?”
“No.”
“Then why are you—?”
“She hasn’t reached out.” I blurt before I can stop myself. “I have no idea what she’s doing or thinking.”
Honey blinks. “Wait, you got ghosted?”
My daughter looks at me and laughs.
“Not fuckin’ funny, Honey.”
She laughs harder, “yes it is. Have you heard from her at all?”
“No.”
“For two weeks?”
“Not one word.”
“And you didn’t reach out either?”
I pause, “…No.”
“Oh my god.” She presses her fingers to her temples. “Pops, I love you, but you’re unbelievable. You’re both sitting on opposite ends of the state waiting for the other person to blink.”
“She’s independent,” I say defensively. “She doesn’t need me chasing her.”
“My God! Men are so dumb! Yes, she does, fuckin’ idiot,” Honey snaps. “Or at least she needs to know you want to. Women like that, women who’ve been through hell, don’t expect people to show up. You have to show up anyway.”
I stare at her.
She stares back.
“Dad?” she says, softer this time. “If you’re even thinking about a woman this much what would it kill you to have the balls to reach out?”
My jaw works. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is.”
“She’s been through a lot. We aren’t anything like that.”
“Then be gentle.”
“I don’t want to overwhelm her.”
“Then be clear.”
I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t do relationships.”
“You told her that?”
“Yes.”
“And she still let you in?” She raises an eyebrow at me.
“…Yeah.”
“Then she’s not expecting you to propose. She probably just wants to know you didn’t forget she exists.”
Forget her? I wish. I can’t even get her out of my bloodstream.
Honey stands, brushing dust off her jeans. “If you don’t text her in the next five minutes, I swear to god I’m calling her myself.”
“You don’t even have her number.”
“I can find it.” She juts out her hip, “Pops, clue in, piss off a woman, there is nothing we can’t find better than the damn FBI. Don’t challenge me.”
I glare. “You stay out of it.”
“Then text her.”
I look down at my hands. Two weeks ago, those hands held Holley’s waist in the shower. Lifted her against me. Brushed damp hair from her eyes. Two weeks ago, I rode away thinking I’d feel relief once I hit the highway.
Instead I haven’t slept right since.
Honey walks toward the door, muttering, “Two grown adults, honest to god…”
“Fine,” I say, grabbing my phone off the shelf. “I’ll text.”
She stops, turns, smirks. “Good. And try not to sound like a caveman.”
“No promises.”
She snorts and disappears back into the office.
I hold my phone, thumb hovering. This is dumb. This shouldn’t be this hard. I talk to people all day.
I flirt.
I banter.
I charm.
I negotiate.
I fight.
But a single text to her?
My heartbeat actually picks up.
I type:
Tony:
How’s the mountain air?
Simple. Neutral. Controlled.
I hit send before I can delete it.
The second it whooshes away, I’m tempted to throw my phone across the garage just to stop myself from watching it like a damn televangelist waiting for holy signs.
Five minutes pass.
Ten.
I almost tell myself she’s not going to answer.
Then—
Holley:
Tony?
Just my name.
My chest tightens. Hard.
My thumbs fly.
Tony:
Last I checked.
The typing bubbles appear instantly.
Holley:
Oh my god I meant to text but talked myself out of it and deleted your number to make sure I didn’t. I didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t want to seem—
I interrupt.
Tony:
Holley. Breathe.
Takes a moment.
Then:
Holley:
Hi.
I grin before I can stop myself. That’s better.
Tony:
Hey Trouble.
More bubbles.
Holley:
It’s been busy. And cold. And I’ve been working extra shifts because I want to fix the hot water heater in the house.
I blink.
Working extra shifts to fix her own damn hot water heater.
My pulse kicks.
Not because she’s struggling—though that hits me too hard—but because she’s handling her shit head-on. No waiting for someone to save her. No standing around freezing.
Just grit and independence.
And god help me, that’s a turn-on like nothing else.
Tony:
You working yourself into the ground?
Holley:
Maybe a little.
Tony:
Why am I not surprised.
A beat.
Then:
Holley:
I didn’t think you’d want an update.
Tony:
I wouldn’t have texted if I didn’t.
Silence. Then one more message:
Holley:
I’m glad you did.