Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Jesus . . .
I swallow hard and grip my bottle of beer, giving her glass a gentle tap. “To my father,” I murmur with my fucking heart in my throat.
I know he’s dying. She knows he’s dying. I’m not as well-equipped as Everleigh to organize my emotions like inscriptions on the patterned pavers at Stanford Memorial Church.
“Will you look for your own place or stay with your mom?” She sets her glass on the cocktail napkin.
“I’ll stay with her for now. If I get a job and my dad passes, I’ll look for a place of my own. Maybe.” I sigh, drumming my fingers on my legs. “I don’t know. I’m just taking it a day at a time.”
“Where’s your sister?”
“Boise.”
Everleigh rests her napkin on her lap as the server delivers our salads. “Thank you,” she says, and then looks at me when we’re alone again. “I understand I’m not your emergency contact, best friend, or chosen confidant, but I will drive to Somers if you need help navigating anything with either of your parents. Call me if you get overwhelmed with medical jargon. I can dumb it down for you.” She smirks.
I chuckle. “Thanks. I’ll keep your offer in mind.”
“Hey, Will.”
I turn to the side as Casey, one of my engine crew, stops at our table.
“Hey, Casey.” I set my fork down and nod toward Everleigh to make an introduction. But before I get the words out, he speaks up.
“Everleigh,” he says. Not Dr. Reichart. Everleigh.
The woman behind him, his date, I presume, pings her gaze between the two of them.
“Hi, Casey. How are you?” Everleigh asks with a relaxed smile while retrieving her fork from the rolled cloth napkin.
“I’m good.”
His date and I make brief eye contact. “How do you two know each other?” I ask.
Casey glances back at his date, and Everleigh patiently waits for him to answer the question.
“Uh.” Casey grabs his date’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Everleigh and I went out a few times.”
What the fuck?
I narrow my eyes at her, but she’s all Dr. Reichart right now, hands folded in her lap. Soft expression.
“But that was a year or so back. Anyway . . . Will, are you still looking for renters? My current lease is coming up, and I’d be interested in moving into your house.”
“Everleigh lives there,” I say.
“I stay in the shed.” She laughs. “And I’ll be moving in the next month or so.”
“Great. Well, let me know, Will,” he says. “Enjoy your dinner.”
“You too,” Everleigh says.
I watch Casey and his date exit the restaurant before returning my attention to Everleigh. “You dated one of my crew?”
She shrugs, stabbing her fork into the lettuce. “Yeah. He’s nice. We had a good time together. But he wasn’t looking for more than that, so it didn’t last long because it had nowhere to go.”
Did it go to the bedroom?
I hate that I even care, but I do. Why would her mom imply she hasn’t had sex since she had it with me?
“That’s great that he wants to rent your place. It’s one less thing you have to cross off your list. And you know him, so that’s a bonus.”
“And you know him too.” I take a bite of my salad and study her.
“True,” she says with little reaction.
I have so many questions that are none of my business. How did they meet? Where did they go on their dates? What did they talk about? Did they have sex? Was it good?
“Ask me,” Everleigh says as if she’s reading my mind. Wouldn’t that just be my luck? A shrink who can hear my thoughts.
“Ask you what?”
“About Casey.”
“I know Casey. What would I need to ask you?”
“You want to know if we had sex.”
I chuckle and shake my head before taking a bite of salad.
“No?” She cocks her head. “You’re not curious?”
“It’s irrelevant. I’m moving tomorrow.”
“It’s not inherently irrelevant. But it can be a distraction.”
“You’re shrinking me,” I say before drinking my beer.
“Saying something intelligent doesn’t mean I’m shrinking you. Besides, you used to like my intelligence. You found it sexy.”
“I don’t care if you fucked him,” I say in a tone that negates the actual words.
“How many kids does your sister have?” She changes the subject so quickly it makes my head spin.
“Two.”
“Have you imagined having kids of your own?”
“Not recently.”
“Because you’re an old man now?” She likes to poke me in ways I feel certain she would never poke her patients. At least, I hope she doesn’t call her patients old.
“Fun fact: My father was two years older than I am now when he started a family.”
Her eyes widen. “Good for him. How old is your mother?”
I look around the restaurant. “Younger.”
“Younger is not an age. It’s a comparative.”
“I’m aware. How old are your parents?”
“My mom is fifty-five, and my father is, um . . .” She lays her napkin on her lap as our server delivers our food.