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)
Being told I remind everyone of my mom usually feels like a burden since I didn’t want to carry the torch of her life alone. I wanted her to be here with me, and a part of me hasn’t reconciled she’s gone.
If I could have her braid my hair once more, to cradle my face in her hands as she tells me I’m more than she could have wished for, or even just to catch a glimpse of her watching me run my horse in that cloverleaf pattern around the barrels at the rodeo and to feel her comforting arms around me when I made a mistake that lost me the competition.
She was my loudest cheerleader and my broken heart’s confidant. No, it’s not fair she’s gone, and I’m left with features that remind everyone of not only her life but also that she’s gone too young.
“Thank you,” I reply, accepting the compliment. It might still hurt to hear, but I’m glad I have some of her features.
I always saw Mary as someone’s mom, but there’s no pretense or vibe of hierarchy standing with her now. At some point, the kids grow up, and maybe it’s because I have, but I see her as the woman she is as well.
She and Tagger share their grassier green eyes, and her smile is kind, her voice softer spoken, which makes me feel at home in her kitchen. The chill of Mary’s hands after wiping them on a dish towel is in opposition to the warm welcome that lies in her eyes and greeting. Reminds me of my mom when she’d be cooking, washing her hands, and moving to the next task before they could warm up again. “It’s so wonderful to spend time with you again, Christine.”
Her words pull my mind out of the past and into the present.
“It’s wonderful to see you again. It’s been a while. Was it the church potluck or . . .?” My memory might not be serving me well. I thought I saw Mary around sometimes, but now I’m not sure, which makes me feel bad for not checking in on them or even inquiring. We may be a small town at heart, spread out over the county, but I’m usually better at knowing these things. “Last year’s Peach Festival?”
“I think it was the farmers’ market last fall.”
“Oh, that’s right. I don’t work the Greene Farms stand often, but I covered last November when we were short-staffed.”
Spying pots on the stove that appear to need attention, I ask, “Can I help you with dinner?”
“Actually,” she starts with a grin that reminds me of Beck’s when he’s about to get into a little good trouble. “We’re going to let Tag and Justin take over from here.” She goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of white wine. “His dad will be out in a minute, and I’m confident my son can manage it until then. As for us, I thought we could catch up out on the porch. That sunset looks to be a beauty tonight.” Looking at Tagger, she asks, “You can handle it, right?”
“Like a pro.” Not a second of hesitation came with his response.
As soon as his mom shuffles Beck out the door with the bribe of a hopscotch, Tag says, “Hey, Pris?”
His eyes haven’t left mine since he mentioned being a pro in the kitchen . . . leading my mind to wonder about the bedroom. The “Pris” doesn’t even sidetrack my wicked thoughts. But then he says, “Come here.”
My heart starts beating out of my chest from the dulcet tone of the request. I go without question, stopping just shy from the front of my leather sandal from touching his shoe. “Yes?” I reply all breathy, making it obvious that I don’t get out of the house enough these days, and I’ve forgotten how to behave around men I find irredeemably attractive.
“The glasses are in the cabinet closest to the fridge.”
Embarrassment lumps in my throat, dulling that vivid heartbeat as it drops to the pit of my stomach. “Right.”
I turn, but the brush of his fingers against mine before he catches my hand has me looking between us at the connection instead of at the cabinet where he indicated. The teasing gives me whiplash, but the electricity between us is enough to light up a stadium.
Will I never grow out of this crush?
I’m starting to think it’s futile to fight it.
I look into his eyes, which are set on mine so steadily that I shift under the intensity. And gulp, that lump finally clearing, hoping he doesn’t hear it. I move away, needing to for self-preservation, and open the pale-yellow door to find two mismatched wineglasses inside the cabinet. The moment gives me a chance to right myself back into my better sensibilities. It’s dinner with his family, not him. I need to remember that.