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)
I chuckle. “I don’t know if managing other people’s money is considered hard or important, but I appreciate the ego boost.”
The chair protests under his weight, but he keeps rocking. With his eyes on me, he says, “I heard you paid off your parents’ property?”
I glance at Beck. Money isn’t something I talk about much around him. He’s surrounded by it in the city. Keeping him grounded is something I strive for more. “I did. They paid most of it. I knew my mom was ready to retire from running the stables, so I thought I’d help get them there sooner.”
He stands and comes toward me, patting me on the arm when he passes. “That’s real nice, son.”
“Can I get you some lemonade, Dad?” Her voice is a welcome melody to the gathering out here.
Thomas stops and looks at her. There’s momentary silence, and then he says, “You look nice, Pris.”
Pris? Her eyes immediately find mine. I don’t even have to say anything because my lifted brows are already saying all that needs to be said.
Pointing her finger at me, she says, “Don’t say a word.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “Wasn’t going to . . . yet. I was saving it for the ride over to my parents’ place.”
“Maybe I’ll take my truck after all.” She turns to go back inside.
“No. No. I’ll zip it. Not a word. I promise. Unless you give me permission.”
I’m gifted an eye roll with a grin she’s trying to suppress. “Dad, a plate of spaghetti from last night is in the fridge. Is that alright?”
“Stop fussing over me. I’m a grown man. You go on. You look too nice to waste it out on the ranch.”
Beck pops up from the chair and moves to Christine’s side. “You look nice.”
A tilt of her head in my direction gives me props when I’m left wondering when my six-year-old started stealing my lines.
Tapping his nose, she says, “Thank you, Beckett. Are you ready to go?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Me too.” She turns suddenly, pulling the screen door open again. “Hold on. I got your mom some flowers from the garden today. April has the prettiest blooms.”
When she returns, she has a bouquet of pink, orange, and yellow flowers wrapped in brown paper and tied with yellow string and a tote bag in the other hand. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Good to see you, Mr. . . . Thomas.”
“Good to see you, too, kid. You’ve made us proud here in Peachtree Pass.”
I pat Beck’s back to encourage him in the right direction. “I appreciate it.”
He comes to the top step and calls, “When are you bringing my daughter home?”
“Dad?” Christine snaps, looking back over her shoulder. “It’s not a date. I’m going to see the Granges.”
“Well, whatever you kids are calling it. She’s an adult now, as she always reminds me, and can make her own decisions. So I won’t be inside in my La-Z-Boy watching TV all hours of the night to make sure she gets home alright.”
“He’s totally going to be waiting up for me.”
“The man’s got jokes.” I open the front door for her. “It won’t be too late,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t stay up worrying about her.
“He always does.” She slips into the car.
I’m standing there, suddenly realizing we might be going on a date. No. Beck is with us. There won’t be any romance or alone time at all, except the drive home since he’ll be in bed by then. Shit. Is this a date?
I load Beck into the back seat and then slowly walk around. I know what this looks like, what it feels like . . . walks like a duck. Quacks like a duck. It’s a fucking duck.
Running my hand through my hair, I take a breath. It’s not a duck.
She’s coming over because Beck wanted her to. My mom was thrilled to hear she gets to host and see her again. I’m just the driver of the vehicle. Nothing more than a chauffeur. Yeah. That’s good.
I pull open the door and slide into the driver’s seat. When I start the car, I look at her. She whispers, “It’s not a date.”
“Old friends.”
“Speak for yourself, old man. Just friends works better for me.”
“Just friends it is, then.” I put the car in drive and start for the house. Fifteen minutes. What’s fifteen minutes between friends? “Do you want to listen to some music?”
She laughs but keeps her eyes out the window. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Am I that obvious?
I don’t know how I’m going to explain to my best friend that I accidentally took his sister out on a date, but I do know one thing. Baylor’s going to kill me.
CHAPTER 5
Christine
“So pretty,” Tagger’s mom, Mary, says, taking my hands in hers as soon as we walk into the house. “You look so much like your mom.”