Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Gene called the tow truck?
I had an ominous premonition that gave me chills despite the pre-dawn heat. I didn’t want it to be who I thought it was. There was no way my morning was about to go from worst case embarrassment to apocalyptic humiliation.
A door slammed on the other side of my car and Morgan said, “I’m so sorry, Wade. I told Gene not to bother you at this hour, but he refused to leave her paying an arm and a leg for a stranger that might not get her safely home.”
Gah. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that they’d call their closest friend, the mechanic who owned his own garage, to tow my car?
Too bad I couldn’t melt into the grimy, stained concrete beneath my slippers and magically reappear back in the safety of my living room. That would be a convenient power to have right now.
“Don’t worry about it. It gives me the chance to see you two off. I’ll go ahead and get this hooked up while you say your goodbyes.”
I kept my back to him, but I’d know that deep drawl anywhere. After all these years, it still had a disturbing ability to weaken my knees. It reminded me of sun-drenched melted honey, summers at swimming holes I’d never been to, and impossible Kama Sutra positions I’d always wanted to try.
“Can you give me a hand?” he asked.
I froze, thinking he was talking to me, but then one of the officers said, “Anything to keep the traffic moving.”
“She left the keys inside if you need them,” Morgan volunteered.
My hands tightened on my cup in annoyance. Don’t mind me. Why would I need to be a part of the discussion? I was only the car’s owner.
Could a person be sarcastically grateful? Because I didn’t want to deal with this or him, but I still wanted to complain about not being included.
“Gene looks upset for some reason,” Morgan said, her head angling in his direction, “but there shouldn’t be any problems. I weighed those suitcases twice.”
When I couldn’t unclench my jaw long enough to reply, she swore under her breath and pried one of my hands away from my cup to hold it in hers, compelling me to meet her gaze. She had Mom’s eyes. Sophia Loren eyes, I’d called them, a nod to the Sicilian father our mother had never known. They were distinctive, deep set and wide, only Morgan’s were the color of green sea glass instead of blue skies.
“We’re all good now, August,” she reassured me. “Wade is going to drop you off at home and fix the car, so problem solved.”
If she thought that information would relax me, she was very much mistaken.
“And I’m going to FaceTime you every day I’m in Lesa before the cruise,” she continued, oblivious to my growing unease. “It’ll be like you’re there with me, and you won’t miss out on anything but the bad in-flight movie and the jet lag.”
She was trying to be kind after her brief flash of temper, but it felt like an unintentional knife sliding between my ribs. We both knew I was missing out on so much more than that. All because I hadn’t finished another book since my last release three years ago, and too much of the royalties I’d been living on since then had gone to doctor bills.
It didn’t feel like a good enough excuse to stay behind at the moment. Not for this trip. Not when we were supposed to bring Mom home together.
“Morgan, I—”
“Damn it.” She stared at her husband, who was currently waving at her hard enough to flag down a passing jet. “Hold that thought, I’ll be right back after I sort out our luggage.”
Before I could decide whether to be annoyed or relieved by the interruption, she’d raced away from me and taken Gene’s place at the counter. Meanwhile, Gene made a beeline for the tow truck and the man I was still refusing to acknowledge.
I had to admit, my brother-in-law’s outfit did a good job of distracting me from my mood. In a painfully bright Hawaiian shirt, basketball shorts, socks and sandals—his pale bald head glowing beneath the harsh outdoor lighting—he looked more like an intimidating bull of a bouncer than an accountant.
A bouncer who always dressed like a color-blind eighty-year-old.
“Is there a problem?” Wade asked him.
I took a drink of my coffee without turning around. If they wanted me to move so I couldn’t hear their conversation, they would have to ask me nicely.
“Rick texted.” Gene sounded agitated. “Fucking Dave crashed the Mustang last night. I don’t know the extent of the damage, but we need to get it fixed before the race. Maybe the kid you’re renting out your apartment to can help out as a favor? You said you were thinking about adding him to the pit crew anyway. He may as well start now.”