Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“So he’s basically your cat.” Again, she only missed tossing one bag into the hole.
“He’s absolutely not my cat. There’s a robin’s nest in that tree. The tree is mine, but the birds are not. Palmer is a neighborhood cat. Everyone knows him and likes him, but no one wants to invite him into their home.”
“Huh. That’s sad. Maybe he should sleep with me while I’m here.”
“No pets in the rental.” I shot her a stern look before tossing my bags.
“Oh, gotcha. Winky wink. No pets in the rental.”
“What? No. What’s with your ‘winky wink?’ No winky wink. No pets in the rental. Period. No exceptions.”
“Cats are clean and curious. Excellent companions,” she said.
Only two of my bags made it onto the board. “Are you kidding me?” The last bag I tossed pushed her fourth bag into the hole, but my bag stopped short of dropping.
“No. I’m serious. Cats are—”
“I’m talking about my stupid bag, not your incorrect facts about cats.”
“What’s incorrect?”
We gathered our bags.
“They are not excellent companions. Dogs are.”
“That’s your opinion. But it’s a fact that they are clean and curious.”
I used three of my bags, tossing them into the air to juggle. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m clean and curious. Does that mean you want me in your bed?”
Shit.
That sounded different in my head. There went my perfect host rating. Who would want to stay at my place after Alice’s one-star rating with a review that stated how I asked if she wanted me in her bed?
“Sorry, Murphy. Once again, I can’t risk letting you fall off that high pedestal.”
She took a weed whacker to my manhood in the most subtle ways, and she did so with a smile. Of course, I wanted to know if she was really suggesting I might not be good in bed. But I couldn’t ask her. After all, the customer was always right.
“You won,” I said.
She beat me in less than five minutes.
Alice rested a hand on her hip and nodded slowly, inspecting the boards like a crime scene. “Sorry about that. I’ll let you win next time.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Are you serious? You’ll let me win? That makes me feel great.” I laughed.
Corkscrewing her lips, she repeated her slow nod. “Again, I’m sorry.”
“Alice Yates.” I held out my hand. “It’s been a pleasure. But you are so far out of my league, I will most certainly fall off that pedestal. Again, if you need anything, let me know. Otherwise, enjoy your stay, and please leave a review if you have time—on the rental, not my cornhole skills.”
She lifted her sunglasses onto her head and eyed me from head to toe, grinning like a fool while shaking my hand. “I didn’t take you for a quitter. Granted, that’s just me judging you based on your handsome smile, thick dark hair, and height. I didn’t think it was possible to be over six feet tall and be a quitter.”
“And the hits just keep coming.” I pressed a hand to my chest and stumbled backward.
“Let me make you dinner to make up for the loss.”
“I shouldn’t. But thank you.”
“Girlfriend?”
I shook my head.
“Wife?”
“No. I just can’t risk anything going wrong and you leaving me a bad review.”
Her grin swelled. “I’m an excellent cook.”
I chuckled, heading toward the stairs. “Alice, I have no doubt that you’re excellent at literally everything. Enjoy your stay.”
Chapter Eight
Alice
Life is a journey.
But don’t forget it’s still a circle.
Sunday morning, I tend to the garden on my hands and knees, picking vegetables for the day’s meals. At the sound of laughter, I glance over my shoulder.
Blair and Murphy have returned from a run, and they’re stretching by the back door. He says something, and she throws her head back in laughter. Then she pulls the tie from her hair, letting her thick, sweaty tresses fall down her perfectly tanned back. She’s the blonde I used to dream of being before tiring from my roots growing out.
Murphy opens the back door, and Blair lifts her leg. He squats in front of her to remove her shoes. She lovingly runs her hands through his hair, her enormous diamond catching the sun’s rays like God himself is winking at her for finding the perfect man.
I have no good reason to hate her, but it’s going to be a long summer, and I’m afraid I’ll do it anyway.
After I finish in the garden, I set the basket of veggies aside and run back to my place to wash up and slip on a light blue dress with a white collar and buttons.
Minutes later, I’m in their kitchen with my strappy pumps and white apron, cleaning the vegetables while the breakfast casserole cooks in the oven.
“Good morning, Alice,” Mr. Morrison says, his voice deep and husky. Manly, like his pungent spice cologne.
“Good morning,” I say, scrubbing the vegetables from the garden. “A breakfast casserole is in the oven. Can I get you coffee?”