Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
She’s quiet as she eats. Can’t help but notice how adorably content she looks, wine in one hand, brownie in the other. The golden light of the fire catches on her eyes and hair, illuminating her against the darkness that surrounds us.
I’ve got a full belly. A happy woman beside me. A sky full of stars overhead, and a night to myself.
Have I ever been happier?
When can we do this again? Is a once-weekly date night too much? I’m not sure Ella would love it, but she’d definitely love having a daddy who’s happier, more patient. Maybe the girls could even join us once in a while. A family date could be cute.
All of a sudden, I wanna do everything.
Would my brothers hate me if I asked for more help? What if I asked Miss Caroline to babysit every Saturday night, a standing reservation of sorts? Ava and I could go riding. Go to The Rattler to dance. We could fuck in my back seat, make out in my bed. Cook a meal together. Watch a movie. Drive to Lubbock and go to the movies.
Now that I’m thinking about it, there’s so much to catch up on. Ava and I have had sex in almost every position under the sun. But I don’t know much about her family, or how she became a barrel racer, or why she transitioned into the role of a trainer. Why’d she pick the name June for her daughter? What’s her favorite color? Her favorite movie?
I can’t remember the last time I asked someone those questions. I feel like I’ve spent the past three and a half years buried in parenthood. I’m finally able to come up for air—I’m finally getting a taste of freedom again—and it feels fucking good.
The hard part is behind you. The good part is ahead.
“Really, I don’t get how you haven’t been wifed up yet. Or would it be husband-ed?” Ava wipes her mouth with a napkin. “You’re an incredible cook. You’re excellent at duck duck goose. You look super fucking sexy in all kinds of hats.”
I touch the brim of my Stetson. “Thank you kindly, Miss Bartlett. And you know, I’ve been a little busy raising Ella on my own. Her mom isn’t super involved, so …”
The light flickers across Ava’s face as she reaches for the wine bottle and refills our glasses. “You ready to talk about it? I totally understand if you’re not comfortable sharing that stuff with me, but I’m here if you need someone to listen.”
Sipping my wine, I lick my lips. Wyatt really does know his shit when it comes to this stuff. The wine is delicious, intensely flavorful but not too sweet. I like the mellow buzz it gives me too.
With a groan, I stretch out on my side, my feet toward the fire. Its warmth radiates up my legs. “Is this the part of the night where we tell each other things we’ve never told anyone else?”
“I’m game if you are.”
“How are you so willing to just, yeah”—I sigh—“go there?”
She laughs. “Go where?”
“You have no problem accessing your inner child. You can be silly, but you can also be soft. You’re not terrified of the past—the truth—the way I am. I’m not good at being vulnerable.”
Ava’s eyes take on a thoughtful gleam as they search mine. “Just the fact that you can admit that means you’re not as terrified as you think. But really, give yourself more credit. As parents, we’re rewarded for being overachievers, like you mentioned. We’re made to feel like the more we do, the better off our kids will be. It’s hard not to get stuck in the mode of just, you know, getting shit done. Becoming a taskmaster machine.”
I scoff. “I feel like that’s all I do, get shit done. From the second I wake up to the second I crawl into bed, I am checking things off the never-ending to-do list I keep in my head. Been that way since my parents died. When you stay busy, you don’t have time to think too much about anything, you know?”
“Aw, Sawyer.” She reaches for my hand. “Like you said, it’s been your way of coping. Try not to beat yourself up too much.”
“It’s not a healthy way of coping, though. Rationally, I know that. But tough to get out of get-shit-done mode and deal with your baggage when you live with a toddler.”
Ava nods, thoughtful. “As parents, we really have no choice. Shit does need to get done. But I get what you’re saying about how easy it is to lose our true selves in the busyness. I figured out pretty early that if I spend all my time doing, I feel super productive, but I’m also cranky and resentful and just … unhappy. So I try to let myself be a little less productive and a little more spontaneous—a little more fun. It’s what keeps me sane.”