Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
She shrugged. “They’re teenagers and they like sports. I won’t have anything in common with them.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Well, I know I don’t want any more brothers. I only want Rhys. Ivy and Chase’s mom has a new baby who’s their stepbrother. Meh…babies.”
“What’s wrong with babies?” I asked casually.
Another shrug, Gretchen’s brows knit tight as she concentrated on her donut. “They smell funny, they can’t talk, and they cry a lot. I’d rather have Tate.”
“What if I had a kid someday? Do you think you’d like him or her?”
Gretchen froze and met my gaze. “This is a hypothetical question?”
My lips twitched. “Yes.”
“The answer is…I don’t know,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Is that mean?”
“No. You can be honest.”
“Then I think you should get a dog like Tate. They’re better.”
I smiled and decided it was best to exit the conversation before she got suspicious.
Gretchen had a way of offering a fresh perspective without trying. She was aware of the inherent instability of her world. She noticed everything—all the inconsistencies and disparities—and was somehow stronger for it.
Note to self: Kids were smarter than you’d think.
CHAPTER 8
VIGGO
Dexter’s special of the day was a blueberry donut. It was frosted with purple blueberry icing and was decorated with a flower. Sort of fancy looking, but I liked blueberries, so…
“Two of the special, please.”
“You got it.” The short-haired tattooed brunet flashed a bright grin. “I’m Janey, by the way.”
“Viggo.”
Her smile somehow widened. “Nice to meet you, Viggo. You’re later than usual. Saturday morning lie-ins are the best.”
I furrowed my brow. “Uh…yes.”
“I’m off tomorrow. I plan to hibernate till noon under covers with a steamy romance.” She waggled her pierced brows, adding, “Can I get you a fritter too?”
“Yes, please.”
“That’s the spirit.”
I stepped aside to wait for my order and glanced up as Dexter waltzed in from the kitchen. I did a double take at his sporty ensemble—black joggers, a snug Wood Hollow Hornets T-shirt, and a matching ball cap. Damn, he was stupidly attractive. I didn’t like it.
“Hi, there. Did you order coffee too?” he asked.
“No, I’ve had enough this morning. Just the—”
“Blueberry donuts and a fritter,” Janey chimed in, pushing two separate bags across the counter.
“Great. Those are on the house. Later, Janey.” Dexter swiped the donuts and charged toward the exit.
“He stole my donuts,” I said flatly.
Janey snickered. “He didn’t get far. Catch him before he heads to practice. Next!”
Dexter met me on the sidewalk and pressed the pastry bags into my hands. “I have to get to the field. Do you mind walking with me?”
I inclined my head and followed him to the shiny white Tahoe parked in front of Dean’s Shoe Repair. “What is it?”
“Nothing serious. I’m running behind schedule. I forgot to tell you that I coach this morning, but then I spotted you in line and—” He slipped designer sunglasses on his perfect nose and continued. “Does lunch sound good today? We could get out of town or hard-launch our new friendship at Log Cabin Diner. Personally, I vote for a local friendship launch. Eventually, baby news will come out, and all this will seem silly. Also, I never asked if you were a football fan. I still think flag football is our best bet.”
I frowned, struggling to keep up with his pinball style of speech, ricocheting from topic to topic. “Are you asking me a question about lunch or football?”
He chuckled. “Both. Do you play football or follow it?”
“Yes, I like food. And I played football in college, and I’ve been following the Vikings for almost twenty years, so…also yes.”
Dexter smiled, one of those extra-brilliant smiles that could light up the night. “What position did you play?”
“Defensive tackle.”
“That’s awesome.”
I snorted. “Is it?”
He opened the driver’s side door and shot a playful grimace at me. “Don’t be a dick.”
I pointed at my chest in dismay, then shook my bags of goodies. “Good-bye, Dexter. I have donuts to eat.”
“Lunch then. Log Cabin at noon.”
A few hours later, I sat in a red vinyl booth across from Dexter. I ordered a burger with fries; he ordered pancakes. Blueberry pancakes. Who ordered blueberry pancakes for lunch?
“Me. I love pancakes.”
“Hmph. What are we supposed to talk about?” I shot a wary glance at our waitress, a raven-haired pixie in her twenties with doe eyes, tattooed arms, and scarlet lips. Nicole did her best not to ogle, but I could tell we confused her. “Also…everyone is staring.”
Dexter flattened butter atop his stack of pancakes and reached for the syrup, stealing a quick peek at Nicole just as she moved on to another table. “That can’t be helped. Small-town ways. Told you it would be easier if you played flag football. We can talk about anything. You go first.”
I narrowed my eyes in response and chomped into my burger. We ate in silence for a minute or two. It was weird and uncomfortable, and I hated that I couldn’t help noticing his dimples and that his wind-tousled hair made him look like a model. Not good.