Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I know he and Summer come up here for her treatments and meetings with her team of doctors fairly often, so I do as he advises, taking the second exit into Burlington and rounding the bypass back to the Starsky Diner for breakfast. It’s a pretty neat place with a sparkling ceiling meant to mimic the stars, and I figure Summer will get a kick out of it, at least for a little while.
And every little bit helps while you’re trying to entertain a toddler with mobility limitations during a meal.
We make quick work of unloading her after I park, and Bennett straps her into her specialized stroller again to take her inside. We take a table in the corner, and the waitress gives Summer a kids menu and some crayons to color. She starts scribbling wildly, and I settle in to figure out my order.
Bennett surprises me by asking, “Do you think she’ll say yes?”
I laugh, shoving back in my seat and tossing my menu on the table. “I mean…I’m hoping. Though, I’m just chump enough to ask anyway, even if it might go bad.”
His eyes widen and his brows lift. “Why?”
“Because…” I pause and shrug. “I can’t imagine my life without her in it. I can’t imagine going through anything—good or bad—and not going through it with her. Because when I look at her, I know I don’t need to see anyone else. I see the future. I see the best version of myself reflected in every smile she gives. And I think I give those things to her, too.”
He nods and goes back to looking at his menu, but his jaw works in a way that I know he’s not being dismissive. He’s overcome by the possibility of what I’m describing. He’s like a kid with Santa—he hasn’t seen it for himself, but he truly wants to believe.
“She’s been through some shit, Ben. A whole lotta shit, to be honest. But she’s still the most genuine, loving person I’ve ever known. I try to live by her example because, fuck knows, neither of our parents were good.”
He jerks his chin up, just once.
“If you ever find it, don’t let it go, you know?”
Bennett scoffs. “Doubtful.”
“Well, whatever. Just don’t count it out, is all I’m saying. And if you get it, keep it. I’m going to try like hell to.”
“All right, all right. Enough with this shit already,” Bennett says through a groan, dropping his menu to the table. “I forgive you for waking us up so fucking early, so you can stop laying it on so thick.”
“That’s the thing, Ben,” I admit with a laugh. “This isn’t thick at all. It isn’t even sticky like syrup. I’m so in fucking love, I could go on and on and on, and it would never be enough.”
He shuts his eyes and sighs. “Can you let me eat first? I can’t handle all this sappy shit on an empty stomach.”
I grin at him. “What can I say? I’m a man deranged.”
“All right, deranged man. Let’s eat, and then we’ll go get your ring that looks like a water tower.” He blows out a breath. “You truly are ridiculous. I hope you know that.”
“Oh, I know, dude. But I promise, if you knew the story…you’d be looking for a water tower ring too.”
There are not a lot of certainties in life, but right now, I’m certain. And Josie Ellis should get ready because I’m hell-bent on making her mine. Forever.
21
Josie
Thursday, September 22nd
“Ow!” I shriek, doing a hop and a turn on one leg and stretching my neck like an ostrich to distract from the pain. My toe throbs, and I reach down to grab it while tears sting the corners of my eyes.
Grandma left an hour ago to join her morning yoga group in the park, and I fell asleep on the living room couch after she was already gone, despite needing to get ready for work. Now, I’m running behind for my Thursday lunch shift, and my poor toe is paying the price.
I realize, as a grown woman, I shouldn’t need my grandma to be home to keep me on schedule, but it’s one of the perks of Rose’s penchant for meddling. She stresses so I don’t have to.
To be fair, I did get home from Clay’s at an unfashionably late hour, and the lack of shut-eye becomes a very real physical limitation at some point. I wouldn’t trade the time together, though. Our moments after he gets off work at the bar are always so freaking hot.
Fingers crossed, Harold’s not too mad that I’m late and that my toenail doesn’t fall off from trauma.
I grab my purse and lock the door behind me, hustling through a minor limp. The side of the stoop is wet from Grandma’s garden sprinklers, so I look at the concrete carefully when I’m turning around to make sure I don’t slip. The vintage black-and-white loafers Harold has us wear are a fall hazard on wet concrete. Trust me, my tailbone knows from experience.