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)
Anyway, I’ve known him my whole life. And in the short time he’s been back, I’ve already gathered that Tagger Grange didn’t come home for a good time. It seems he came home to reckon with his past. His son gave him a reason to reconsider a place that he hightailed away from as if being from here was marred in shame instead of his glory days.
Just another reason that attracts me to him. He left his all-star football days behind him and moved on with his life. He wasn’t stuck in the past like so many guys around here still are, hanging onto their teen years like that was the best time of their lives. It probably was.
Not for Tagger or Baylor, though, not even for my older brother Griffin. They all went on to bigger and brighter futures while I landed back here to take care of things. Maybe I’m not any better than those guys from high school that I see hanging out at Whiskey’s when Lauralee and I go out. Perhaps instead of fighting my fate, it’s time to accept it. It might make meeting someone a lot easier if the standard isn’t Tagger Grange anymore. The comparison will always fail to the real thing. Maybe I need to learn to make lemonade from the slim pickins’ in The Pass. I never see myself settling for less. I’d rather be alone.
Although he’s moved to lift the lids of the pots on the stove, Tag glances at me. “I didn’t mean to make this awkward.”
“It’s not.” I smile, but I can’t hold it, not even for the sake of politeness.
With a little nudge of his elbow, he asks, “You sure about that?”
“No.” This time, the corners of my mouth lift naturally. “It’s awkward.”
He laughs. “Honesty is always the best policy. Tell me how to turn this around.”
“Wine will help.”
“Speaking of . . .” He glances down at the glasses in my hands. “My mom’s going to be drinking from the bottle if you don’t get her that glass soon.”
The reminder strikes, making me move toward the door, though the rest of me wasn’t quite ready. I reach for the knob, about to pull the door open, when he adds, “It may not have felt like it, but I want you to know that I wasn’t only Baylor’s friend, Pris.”
I don’t look back, but I do nod, taking in the words and the implications of what he’s said. It’s a feeling more than words that rattle me awake to how our relationship is already evolving from kids to whatever stage this is. I open the door but feel compelled to look back just to see if the truth is embedded in his expression. I’m not disappointed.
Green eyes with softened lines at the sides and a smile that stays close to restraint but can’t seem to hide an intention has me thinking of crossing some lines I shouldn’t with my brother’s best friend. Call me wild, but the flat-front pants and white button-up shirt he’s wearing like that’s all he owns isn’t a deterrent. Images of him in faded jeans and T-shirts that got too tight around his biceps are still emblazoned into my memories. That he looks good in everything, even dressed like he’s about to audit me, is quite annoying. I take a big breath and exhale slowly, knowing I need to walk out of here before my thoughts get away from me. Again. “Glad to hear it, but it would have been nice to know it, too.”
He cuts the fire from the gas stove, but his eyes are quick to find mine. “You were four years younger—”
“And wanted to play with the big kids so badly.”
“You ran around in dresses and boots—”
“Like yesterday,” I volley.
A few long seconds tick by before he chuckles and rubs his hand along his jaw. “Yes, like yesterday.”
“Yet, even dressed like a girl, I could climb a tree faster than most boys.”
“I bet you could.” He takes a deep breath, his chest noticeably filling before he exhales. “I can’t turn back time, Pris, so how can I make it up to you?”
“See me as a whole person instead of only as Baylor’s little sister.”
His eyes dip down but are fast in their retreat to the floor as if he caught himself looking when he knew better. “I see you,” he replies, his gaze finding mine again. But as if he can’t help himself, it caresses my face and travels lower. Again. “I see who you are. I see you’re not that little kid anymore.” Maybe he shouldn’t, but I can’t lie that it’s nice to have someone look at me like the woman I’ve become. He checks the roast in the oven before searching for oven mitts. “I appreciate you spending time with Beck today. He loved it.”