Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
"How was your day?" she asks when we’re settled on the steps. She takes the first bite of her food and moans, making a sound that has me hungry in other ways.
"More of the same," I grunt. It’s all I ever tell her. "How about yours? Did you go into town?"
She takes a sip of her sweet tea. It’s Lorna’s sweet tea, the kind I only break out for special occasions. Funny how now that she’s around everyday feels like it’s a special occasion. “I bumped into Griffin while I was there. He seems very nice."
Even though it’s irrational, I feel a stab of jealousy that she was in town talking to another man. I want all of her words. I want to be the one that she tells all of her stories to. "Did you?"
"He told me something interesting. He said you used to serve in the military." I nod, tense, waiting for her to ask me questions.
She doesn’t though. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed.
"It was kind of nice to learn a personal fact about you. Maybe we could try to get to know each other,” she says softly.
I’m not all that interested in talking about myself, but I want to know more about her.
"We could play twenty questions," she suggests.
"How about ten," I counter. There aren’t many interesting facts about me, but I know that she’s endlessly fascinating. I want to learn all of her secrets and know everything about her. I want her to tell me the things she’s never spoken to another person.
She gives me her megawatt smile as if she was expecting me to shoot the idea down entirely. "I’ll take ten. Why do you go by Whiskey?”
“I was the teenager who sold other kids fake IDs so they could get beers. When I got into the Marines, I was the one who kept everyone in booze. Guess the name kind of stuck and never went away.”
“Then what’s your real name?”
I frown because she knows that one. It’s the one thing that’s never quite made sense to me about her appearance in my cabin. “Tobias.”
“Like my cat?”
“You named your cat Tobias?”
“I wanted to go with Toby, but he’s too sophisticated for that.”
I blink. “That’s why you called my name when you were first at the cabin? I share a name with your cat?”
She shrugs. “I guess so. Weird. How long have you lived here?”
"I bought the place about three years ago when I knew I wasn’t going to be able to continue serving in active duty. Now, why haven’t I seen a boyfriend around?" I don’t even bother trying to hide my blatant subject changing. It’s been bothering me for days now. If she were mine, I wouldn’t be letting her stay with another man. No, I’d keep her all to myself.
Her round apple cheeks darken underneath the yellow glow of the porch light. How is it that her blush can leave me thinking such filthy things? "I’m single."
Her confession is easily the best news I’ve heard in months. It makes me want to pound on my chest in satisfaction.
"How about you?"
"There’s no one in my life," I reassure her quickly. The only person I’m thinking about is her. "Why did you pick this cabin to rent?"
"For the running trails nearby. I’m going to run in the 5K race in Asheville next month. I wanted to get used to the altitude. Where I come from in Georgia, it’s very flat.” She takes another bite of her macaroni. “What made you buy this particular cabin?"
"Courage County has been home since I was a teenager. I was a foster kid here, and when I knew I couldn’t be a Marine anymore, it just seemed like I should return home."
"But you haven’t really come home. I mean, you’re not part of the town, and no one really even knows you’re here. It just seems like if you’re home, they should know."
"Why?" I ask the question, bewilderment running through me.
"Because I’m sure they miss you, and they love you."
I want to tell her that the boy they love is gone. In his place is a man that no longer understands how to function in society. But I can’t tell her those things. Instead, I distract her by asking a question. "What is it you do for work?"
She swallows hard and absently stirs the rest of the macaroni in her bowl. "I was a makeup artist, but I quit my job. Now, I’m kind of trying to figure out what’s next.”
I don’t say anything because it feels like there’s something more. Something she’s trying to figure out how to put into words. I give her space, eating my food and waiting.
“Have you ever had your life split into before and after, and you didn’t know what to do in the after?" she asks softly.