Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
My dad is a great go-get’em-tiger kind of man with a pat on the back. He’s mastered the side hug and the occasional kiss to the head, but his upbringing taught him showing emotions is a sign of weakness. My mother was the opposite. She made him softer in the ways that a little girl needs. Once she was gone, he forgot how to feel anything.
Lifting my head from her shoulder, I laugh as embarrassment takes hold of me. “I’m sure I’m a mess now.”
Using the soft side of her finger, she gently wipes under my eyes. “Beautiful as ever. I used to be so jealous of your mom. She was cheerful and optimistic, effortlessly beautiful, like you, and the kindest soul. I miss her visits. I miss hanging out on her porch drinking mimosas . . .” She eyes me like they were up to no good. “Because we thought that was fancy and catching up on the week while the boys played.”
“I just miss her.”
With a little rub of my knee, she nods and sits back again.
I don’t know why I feel lighter. I would have thought humiliation for breaking down would be weighing on me, but it’s the opposite. I exhale, letting a smile return to my face, and then sip my wine. Sitting with Mary is nice, so I say, “Mr. Gregors is sleeping with Iris Barker over in Dover.”
Popping to the edge of her seat, she leans over. “Really?”
“Yep. She was widowed last year, but rumor has it this affair has been going on long before he died.”
Her mouth hangs open. “How do you know this?”
“Lauralee gets all the juicy gossip up at Peaches.”
When she’s sitting back again, she laughs, holding out her glass to me. “It’s good to have some girl time again.”
“It is.”
Opening the door, Tag pops his head outside. “Dinner is ready.”
Mary stands, giving my wrist a little squeeze. “Perfect timing.” She mouths to me, “Thank you.” With a new glow about her, she takes the bottle of wine inside with her.
I stand with my glass as Tagger calls Beck inside. Turning to me, he says, “What did you two talk about?”
Facing him, I lean against the house, not a foot dividing us, and smirk. “Not you if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Disappointing.” His smirk quirks into place. “Whoa,” he says, jumping back to let Beckett fly past him. “Wash your hands, buddy.” Tag is quick to return to his spot, smiling at me like there was no interruption. “Where were we?”
“You were expressing disappointment because your mom and I didn’t make you the center of our conversation.”
“Ah. Yes.” His eyes look past me, and he takes in a breath. Standing this close to him has me taking in the finer details of his face—three lines from the corners of his eyes, the green is sager when reflecting the colors of the sunset, and the scruff covering the snow drift of his jaw has my mind wondering how it feels—against my fingertips and much lower. “Well, there’s always tomorrow.”
I don’t know why that keeps my smile in place, but it does. “There’s always tomorrow.” I’m not sure I should be hoping he comes out to the ranch again, but I wouldn’t be upset one bit if he did.
Back in my bedroom, I had convinced myself that my new little buddy had twisted Tagger’s arm to invite me over. Now, standing here with him hanging out like we have nowhere to be or a dinner to eat, I’m rethinking that stance. Recent events would prove the case . . .
Large hands that covered my hips at the store.
The electrifying brush of our skin in the kitchen.
Even him offering to drive me was surprising.
I look down between us, giddiness threatening to zip up my spine. I shouldn’t allow myself to feel things that might be one-sided, much less with a man I know will be gone in a few days. But when I look back up at him, I can’t deny the signs of possibility coming from him as well.
Get a hold of yourself, Chris.
He’s Baylor’s best friend.
In some kind of situation with a woman back in New York City.
And has a son to focus on.
Tagger Grange was always nice when I remember the times we spent together. He’s just being a gentleman, so don’t read too much into this. It will only lead to my own disappointment. And when he leaves, like he already plans to do, I don’t need to be healing another broken heart he’s left behind.
Returning to what this really is—a friend having a friend over for dinner—I glimpse his family seated at the table, and ask, “Are you ready for me?”
His body still blocks my entry, and his eyes fix on mine. “I’m not sure, but I might be willing to take the risk.”