Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
But some men were just the men they were. Maybe too complicated. Maybe too simple. Maybe fucked up, and they needed to be seen.
Hutch was all of those.
He just hadn’t met a woman who was patient enough with any of them.
He remembered a woman he’d been seeing for three months when he was still in the Navy. He was falling for her. It was time.
So he started to tell her his history.
She’d laughed.
Right in his face, she’d laughed.
When she saw he was pissed, she said, “Come on, Hutch. You gotta admit it’s funny. You have to laugh at these kinds of things.”
He could not imagine a human in the world who would hear what he’d just told her and find it even vaguely funny.
He’d broken up with her that night to her tears and tantrums, but he did it thankful he hadn’t given her the whole story.
Now he had Mabel, who pulled up the inherent protective instinct that sent him to enlist in the Navy. That pushed him to go for SEAL training. That underlined the work he did with his pups.
And he had Mabel, who’d lived the life she lived, which was indisputably worse than his—even if his was a tangled mess that never got straightened out, any chance of that ending tragically with a shotgun shell—and the woman made sourdough bread, refused to crate a dog who’d been in a shelter, got a creepy note from her creepier neighbors, and kept on going.
On that thought, Hutch put his glass down, went out to see to the second feeding, made sure there was plenty of fresh water, came back in and poured another bourbon.
He took his glass to his living room, got his guitar, sipped, strummed, and found himself writing another song in his head.
And fuck him sideways, it was about Mabel.
It wasn’t until much later, while he was on his back in bed, his dog on the floor at his side, snoring, that three thoughts occurred to him.
The first, he needed a camera with an extreme telephoto lens.
Harry and Rus were going about it wrong.
They needed photos of the women.
If they weren’t there of their own volition, it would be the women who were missing.
Second, as soon as he got that camera, he was going back to the bluff.
And third, he didn’t actually have to sit on Mabel.
He could do the next best thing.
THIRTEEN
Misted Pines Art Center Opening
Mabel
Brett turned his gaze to the heavens.
I turned to look down to his kids.
“Okay, this is the deal.”
Two pairs of wide brown eyes gazed up at me.
“First, this time, both your mom and dad have to say okay. And if they don’t, you can’t be mad, because they’ve said yes to everything so far, and that makes them the way coolest parents ever.”
Liam didn’t buy my line.
He screwed up his cute little face, probably already knowing this was a no go.
Then again, I’d been floating through the amazing Misted Pines Art Center opening, rows of tents with all the good stuff you could ever need, wafting Rich Auntie vibes in my wake and spoiling the shit out of my shop manager’s kids.
To wit, Liam had a Captain America mask painted on his face, courtesy of moi (and the librarians at the Misted Pines Public Library). Emma was a kitty (again, me). They’d both sucked back Italian sodas from the Aromacobana tent (also me), which was the start of the sugar rush. We’d stood with me shelling out dollar after dollar (after dollar) while they threw hoops to win prizes at the MPHS cheerleaders’ fundraising drive to go to some camp.
Just to say, both kids walked away with prizes.
And the cheerleaders were probably going to that camp first class.
The cotton candy machine made Emma’s eyes get so wide, I thought they’d pop out of her cute little face.
“It’s pink!” she’d screeched.
So she got cotton candy, as did Liam (his was blue), and the high school band got six dollars.
Of course, I made certain I had nonverbal permission from Mom and/or Dad (mostly Mom) for all of these things. I wasn’t a heathen.
But I was seeing, now that Liam had picked three caramel apples (mini-M&M’s, turtle and chocolate chip and mini marshmallows) and Emma had picked two (rocky road, and another vote for mini-M&M’s), I might have created a monster or two, and Brett was coming to the end of his tether.
I had to rein it in.
Fortunately, Abigail was giggling herself sick.
She turned to her husband. “Just think, honey. They’re never going to want to come home with us. They’ll want to go to Mabel’s so she can spoil them for all their days. We’ll be childless again.” She clutched his arm and leaned in. “All that freedom.”
Overhearing this, Emma threw her skinny, little girl arms around Tonks’s neck and shouted, “Yay! If I live with Mabel, I get a doggie!”