Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I haven’t wanted to interrupt her. It’s good she feels at home enough to call whoever she’s been talking to. The change in her body language, the visual ease of her shoulders that matched her posture earlier during the game. It’s clear she’s close to the person on the other end of the line. Her sisters? Her grandmother? A friend? A closer friend with benefits?
That’s not something I considered once I saw there was no ring on her finger, but no ring doesn’t mean she’s not taken. Shit . . . Guess I should have asked.
Does it make a difference? Not to my recovery, but absolutely to the fun I’ve been having with her. I don’t poach girls. I like my women to be into me like I am into them. That means fully, with no strings attached.
I shove the lasagna in the oven to reheat and set the timer. When I look out the windows again, the phone is on the railing, and her focus is not on it. I walk outside, feeling bold enough to reclaim the space and her attention. “Hey there.”
She turns back. “You’re up?”
“About forty-five minutes.”
“I’m sorry—”
“For what?”
A sweet smile slips across her lips. “I’m here to take care of you, Brandon. I wouldn’t have been making personal calls if I knew you were awake.”
Coming to rest my arms on the railing, I reply, “This isn’t a nine-to-five where you clock in and clock out. I’m not holding you to some strict regimen or reporting you to the home healthcare police. It’s okay for you to make phone calls, take a nap, or have a shower. I’d prefer you treat yourself more like a guest than an employee.”
“I appreciate that, but I want to be as—”
“As professional as you can. I get it. I get it.” I exhale a sigh. Convincing her to relax wasn’t on my agenda, but it’s moved up a list I didn’t know existed to priority number one. “You are professional without being unapproachable. It’s nice.”
With a little elbow, she says, “That’s a very kind thing to say.” Dragging the phone closer to her, she taps the screen to show a field of flowers as her background wallpaper. “Time is slipping by. I didn’t realize the hour.”
“It flies when you’re having fun.” I grin, evoking one from her as well. “Where was that photo on your phone taken?”
“My family’s property down on the cove.” Her eyes glisten as if a memory is attached, carrying some hefty weight. “It’s one of my favorite places in the world.”
“Other than the beauty, why is that?”
Her gaze shifts into the treetops as a smile takes hold of her again. “It brings me peace when everything is chaotic.” Angling her face toward me, she pockets the phone and tilts her head, letting her hair flow down over one shoulder. “Everything in my life seems to be chaotic lately.” With an inward laugh, her gaze drops between us. When she looks up again, she asks, “Do you really want to know this stuff? I’m really boring.”
“You’re not boring at all to me. And I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t interested.”
Studying my face, she finally reaches my eyes again. “My mom used to take me out there. We’d have picnics, just the two of us. I could tell her anything without other people eavesdropping, which was common practice with all my sisters. Everyone was in everyone else’s business. We kind of still are. You know how siblings can be.”
“My brother gave me hell growing up.”
That spark in her eyes tells me she gets it. “Same. We love each other more than anything, but there were times I wished I was an only child. Once when I got a haircut while I was sleeping. Another time, I found my diary on my bed with a bookmark marking the page where someone left off.” Another laugh bubbles through her. “They didn’t even try to hide the violation. But my mom always made me feel better.”
The punch to the gut comes fast when I remember her family. How did I not piece her and the Seasons together sooner? I feel sick for her. I turn toward the trees, watching the leaves blowing in the breeze, and whisper, “I’m sorry about your parents. I didn’t mean to bring up anything to upset—”
“You didn’t upset me. It upsets me more that nobody really brings them up anymore. It used to be that we couldn’t go anywhere without someone, or a lot of people, stopping us to tell us stories about our parents that would bring a smile to their face, and ours. We learned so much about them through the eyes of others. But now, those voices have become a low hum like white noise. It’s always there, but it’s hard to hear unless you’re listening for it.”