Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
We shop aisle by aisle, working through the men’s grocery list and picking up a few household items. Of course, they also pick out things for me that I don’t ask for, including more yarn.
When we’re about to check out, someone taps my shoulder. “Jennifer, is that you?”
It’s Elena Ramirez, one hand carrying a half-full basket, the other holding her son’s hand. T.J. has a football tucked under his arm.
“Oh, hi, Elena.” I smile as soon as I realize who she is, though inside I’m flinching at her use of my fake name.
“Hi there! I’m not sure I’d have recognized you if it weren’t for these three.” She nods at the men. They look the same as when we last saw her, but I sure don’t. Then her eyes drop to my midsection. A month ago, my pregnancy was easy to hide under a winter coat. It’s more obvious now.
I rest my hand on my stomach and smile to confirm what I’m sure she’s wondering.
“You look different,” she says.
“I am.”
She and I talk about recent weather and other light topics while Atlas checks out. While Elena’s paying for her purchases, Atlas lowers himself to T.J.’s height and asks him about the football.
“Okay if T.J. and I toss the ball for a few minutes?” Atlas asks Elena when she’s done.
She nods, smiling. “Sure. He’d love that.”
Atlas and Silas lead the boy across the street to a small park that’s between buildings. Boyd, his arm still in the sling, kisses my cheek. “I’m only going to watch,” he promises before following after the others.
Elena sits at a bench in front of the store and invites me to join her.
“When are you due?” she asks, her eyes drifting to my belly again.
“In three months.”
“How exciting! Is this your first child?”
When I tell her it is, she says, “You’re in for a wonderful adventure.”
Both of us are smiling as the action across the street draws our attention. T.J. is laughing as Atlas makes a tricky catch. Silas is playing, too, and Boyd is acting as a backstop for T.J., stopping the ball with his foot before it has a chance to roll toward the street.
I wonder if the men will teach my daughter to play football. Imagining them playing games with her has my grin spreading cheek to cheek, but I bring myself back to the present moment.
“I need to reintroduce myself to you,” I tell Elena, who cocks her head, puzzled. “My name is actually Kira. Things have been … complicated, but they’re better now.”
After a pause, she nods. If she’s seen my face on the news, she doesn't mention it.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be honest before.”
She waves off my apology. “I’m sure you had your reasons. If you ever feel like talking about things, I’d love to get coffee sometime.” Her eyes drop to my lap, and she quickly corrects herself. “Decaf coffee, I mean, or herbal tea. And I’m not trying to be nosy. We can talk about whatever you want.”
“I’d like all of that,” I say, laughing.
A few doors down, Mae Whitaker emerges from the bakery, impossible to miss in that trademark red coat. Ed comes out a beat later, carrying a bag and two white boxes. They both walk past us, but Ed stays two steps behind her.
“Moon Ridge has a high tolerance for complicated stories,” Elena says. “Some of us come to this small town because staying where we were wasn’t safe anymore.”
“Yeah?” I keep my tone gentle.
She meets my eyes, something guarded flickering behind hers. “Yeah.”
I’ll definitely be looking forward to a coffee date with her in the near future. It sounds like we have a lot in common.
Across the street, Boyd and Atlas cheer as Silas launches a perfect spiral and T.J. catches it like a champ.
“They seem like good guys,” she says, watching the men.
“They are.” I put as much weight as I can into my words, but it could never be enough to convey all that I think about them.
“Good. So, do you think you might be sticking around? Moon Ridge keeps secrets, but it also keeps people.”
I give her a smile. “I think I might.”
I don’t feel like a visitor anymore.
I’m starting to feel like I belong.
And I have a feeling this town has more stories to tell.
That night, Atlas, Boyd, Silas, and I all end up in the living room together. The men’s typical routines usually have them heading off in separate directions after dinner, but ever since the attack, quiet moments like this are becoming more common.
Silas is in the chair that gives him a view of both the fireplace and the windows, as if he can’t fully choose comfort over vigilance.
Atlas sits at one end of the couch, a mug of hot cider in one hand. Boyd is at the other end with a pillow propped under his injured arm. His good arm is stretched across the back of the cushions.