Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“Well, good morning to you too,” I deadpan, unwinding my scarf and hanging my coat on a chair.
“Aha, the avoidance technique,” he says lightly, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve used it myself, many times before.”
I shoot him a flat look. “I’ll have you know, I’m a grown woman, Ben. I don’t need you keeping tabs on me.”
“Didn’t say otherwise,” he answers, and his mouth twitches in a small but very annoying smile. “But your silence is deafening.”
I roll my eyes and flop onto the opposite end of the couch, crossing my legs and arms because the cold still tingles.
“I mean, I’m not saying Eileen Martin’s bullshit newspaper articles are ever right,” he continues, “but—”
“Shut. Up.”
“Just saying,” he adds, and his smile turns into a full-blown grin. I want to smack it right off his face. He picks up his phone with exaggerated slowness, pretending to dial. “Autumn, sweetie, say hi to Eileen.”
“Hi ya, baby!” Autumn chirps without looking away from the TV, then pops another Cheerio into her mouth.
I narrow my eyes at my very annoying brother. “I will murder you.”
Bennett lifts the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Eileen, you won’t believe this…”
“Slow. Painful. Death,” I warn.
He laughs, the bastard, before setting his phone back down. “Ah, small-town life. Gotta love it.”
“I’m starting to miss those eight million people back home who didn’t give a single shit what I was doing.”
“Shit!” Autumn crows, still staring at the little cats that are dancing across the television screen.
“Nice one, Breeze,” Bennett says, coughing to cover a laugh.
I groan. “Oh, don’t act like you’re innocent. I’ve heard you drop plenty of f-bombs.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But when Norah wakes up, I’m definitely telling her Aunt Bee expanded Autumn’s vocabulary.”
“You’re such a s-h-i-t stirrer, you know that?”
“And you love me.” He grins. “Which is why you should tell me where you were last night…” He waggles his brows like an idiot. “Did you finally find someone to rev the old engine before it never turns over again?”
“A Hanson brother,” I retort with pure sarcasm—which is a fun twist on the truth.
His laugh is so loud, I can only hope it doesn’t wake up his wife.
“Okay, okay. But for real, Breeze,” Bennett pushes after comedy hour subsides. “Where were you?”
“I took a drive.”
He quirks a brow. “Your car was here.”
“I walked, rented a car, and took a drive.”
“There aren’t any rental companies for, like, a hundred miles.”
“I took an Uber.”
Bennett chuckles. “This story has more holes than a sponge, sis.”
“And you have more questions than flipping Jeopardy.”
When I see Autumn yawn, her little body softening against Bennett’s chest, I stand up and scoop her up into my arms. “Want to come cuddle with Aunt Bee?”
“I’s seepy.” She nods, and I cuddle her closer.
“I see how it is,” Bennett calls over my shoulder. “Using my adorable daughter to avoid my questions.”
“Avoid your interrogation,” I correct.
Bennett’s soft chuckles follow us all the way down the hall to the guest room. “Bee’s woom,” Autumn mumbles before she slides her thumb into her mouth.
Her words are innocent, but they hit a mark.
My niece thinks the guest room at her parents’ house is my room—as in, I’m living with them permanently. I know it’s been less than a week, but I really need to start figuring some shit out. I can’t spend the rest of my life living with Norah and Bennett and facing the Red Bridge Inquisition every time I do something like slink home in yesterday’s clothes before the sun comes up.
I have a whole apartment in New York that’s now probably filled wall-to-wall with all the boxes the courier dropped off from the gallery, but that doesn’t call to me even a little bit.
Parts of this…like this moment with my sweet niece, feel right.
We curl up in the guest bed, her curls tickling my chin as she burrows into me. She cups my cheeks in her tiny hands, presses a sloppy kiss to my nose, and whispers something that sounds like “love ya” before sleep steals her away.
I let myself just…be. In this small, quiet moment I never would’ve had if life hadn’t detonated under me.
I should be panicking. Should be figuring out how to rebuild everything I lost. But instead, I hold my niece, breathe her in, and admit the other truth pounding in my chest.
Maybe I could use a little more distraction in my life…
And Tad Hanson sure did a good job of distracting me last night.
11
Tad
Monday, January 18th
“You realize we’re terrible at this, right?” Randy’s voice cuts through the cold Monday morning air, sharp as the bleating sheep.
“We’re not terrible per se,” I mutter, chasing after a woolly escapee by the name of Bob Dylan who looks way too pleased with himself.
“Tad.” His tone is flat and completely unforgiving. “This morning alone, we’re missing four sheep. We’re shit at it.”