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)
And just like that, my heart is thrown into turmoil again.
CHAPTER 6
Tagger
My life in New York is quiet.
Too quiet. And lonely.
But here, around the family table in my childhood home, it’s loud and filled with laughter. One story has led to another, memories shared, and I’ve not felt this content in longer than I can remember.
Seeing the smile on my son’s face has me reaching over and tickling his side to watch him crack up. He’s eating up all the attention he’s been getting, which I love for him. He’ll carry this visit with him for a long time. I hope forever.
Making these memories with him is the best thing I ever did.
I love my son, but Pris makes it hard to look away sometimes. She was a cute kid when she was a teen—a tiara wrapped around the crown of her pink hat, long hair tousled from blowing in the wind, and a chip on her shoulder I think she inherited from her brothers—leaving dust clouds in her wake of her arrival by horse. She loved to make an entrance and never cared if she got dirty doing it. But damn, she’s gorgeous now, and a night-and-day difference from the women in New York.
Anna was a fish out of the water, or in terms of how she used it when we flew back after one night here—tuna was never going to pass for someone with caviar tastes.
I never looked at her the same. I couldn’t. That cut deep, and she knew it. An apology was never given, but she did demand one from me months later for dragging her to the middle of Nowheresville.
It was the beginning of the end of us. However, if I were honest, we always moved in different directions. It just took the switch to be tripped to realize it.
Seeing how Pris and my mom have bonded . . . I don’t know what it is. It just feels good. Natural. Nothing is forced between them. Their eyes shine with their every delight. They exchange glances, seeming to reference something they shared on the porch, and always start laughing right after. It’s tempting to be let in on the inside joke, but I’m okay with them having their secrets. Also, I’m not wholly convinced it’s not the wine kicking in after three glasses each.
Good thing I’m driving her home.
After dinner, my dad wants to take Beck out on the property for his last round of the night, and my mom practically shoves me out the door, promising to put Beck to bed. I give him a big hug and kiss his head. “Be good and get some sleep, okay?”
He grabs my face between his hands, and asks, “Will my face be rough like yours one day?”
Pretending to bite his hand sends him into another fit of giggles, but then I say, “Would it be so bad?”
“No. I want to be just like you, Daddy.”
“You already are, little buddy.” I hug him tight, then send him off to catch up with my dad.
Pris comes toward me after embracing my mom. The top of her dress is caught by the breeze we were lucky to get tonight. “Good night, Mary.”
My mom waves. “Night, Chrissy.”
Heading right for me, I ask, “Chrissy?” I cock a brow and grin. “I can’t have Pris, but she can call you Chrissy?” Shaking my head, I spin the key ring around my finger. “The wound deepens.”
She comes to where I’m leaning against the front of my dad’s truck, choosing to drive it over the rental car. There’s a little wine in her steps, an easygoing nature in her body that’s loosened her shoulders and gives those hips some wiggle. With a smile that could win the Peach Festival planted on her face, she laughs.
Stopping right in front of me like we’re on a friendlier basis, I’m greeted with a poke to the chest. “Mary asked, and you didn’t.”
“May I call you Pris, Pris?” I take her waggling finger and hold it between us.
Her eyes are glassy in the floodlight coming off the porch but have no trouble focusing on me—my eyes, mouth, and bite of her lips when her gaze goes lower. “No.” The grin belies her response. But then she shakes her head. “Pris is a name to make fun of me, but I will let you call me Chrissy if you want.”
“I’m partial to the original.”
Tugging her finger free, she says, “Christine it is for you, then.” She walks to the side of the truck and pulls the door open before I have a chance. “Come on, big boy. It’s time to get me to bed.”
If I weren’t already standing still, my feet would have come to a complete fucking stop after that request. I crack my neck to the side, then adjust the pants that have instantly tightened before I walk to the driver’s side and climb into the cab of the truck.