Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Oh, okay.” He stopped pushing her and the wide arc of the swing stopped, but Abby kept pumping her legs. It kept her going, but not as high.
“She’s a girl,” I explained quietly. “Smaller than you. Younger. You have to look out for her.”
“I know. I was watching. I didn’t think about the rope, though.” He peered up. “Looks okay.”
I followed his line of vision. The rope was thick and still strong. “Still, you gotta be careful.”
He snorted. “Abby is tough. She’s not like other girls. She fell earlier and didn’t even whine about it. Just brushed off her pants and kept going. I like her.” He paused. “Is she my cousin?”
I scratched my chin. “Pardon?”
“When you marry her mom, will she be my cousin? ’Cause I gotta stand up for her and all if she is family.”
“You should, even as a friend.”
He gave me a look. “I will. But family is even more important.”
“I just started dating her mom. We’re not talking marriage yet.”
Even as the words were out of my mouth, I found my gaze straying over to the kitchen window, where I could see Quinn and Laura working in the kitchen. I wondered what it would be like to come home to Quinn daily. To sit across from her and Abby and listen to them tell me about their days. To be able to tell them about mine.
How it would feel to end the day lying beside Quinn in our bed.
There definitely would be sleepovers of the adult variety.
I shook my head to clear it of the strange thoughts. It was way too soon for that.
Cody shrugged. “If you like her, you should think about it, Uncle J. She’s pretty, and I heard Jay’s dad say he was gonna ask her out. He said he’s looking for a replacement something.”
I had to hold in my derision. Jay’s dad was looking for wife number three to cook, clean, and be a mother to his hell-raising kids. That wasn’t happening.
I’d make sure of it.
I’d seen his truck at the Dill a few times early in the day when I was in town.
I decided tomorrow might be a good day to try Quinn’s breakfast.
Earlier than usual the next morning, I finished my chores, leaving it to the men I hired to complete the watering and checking of the crops. I showered and headed into town, pulling up on the main street. I huffed out a huge breath. Our little town had one salon and barber, a drugstore, the hardware and garden, and a surprisingly decent grocery store that had an in-store butcher, which was rare these days.
The liquor store was small but adequate, and right beside it was the florist. It had been around since I was a child, the current owner’s mother having worked there, and her mother before that. I knew the woman who ran it, having gone to school with her son. Still, I dreaded going in.
I had never bought flowers before in my life, aside from a few bouquets for my mother.
This was new to me. I slid from the truck, entering the florist shop, hoping no one spotted me. Inside was filled with bushes, shrubs, and buckets of flowers. There were plants and pots hanging from the ceiling, in the windows, and perched everywhere. I could smell the flowers, their scent tickling my nose.
A woman came around the back counter. “Morning!” She stopped, seeing me. “John?” she questioned. “John Elliott?”
“Hey, Martha,” I greeted her, pushing my baseball hat back. “How are you?”
“Good. I’m good. I’m surprised to see you in here.” She clapped her hands. “What are you needing?” Then she frowned. “Is Laura sick?”
“No, she’s fine.”
She bustled forward. “Oh, that’s good. Did you anger her? You need flowers to say you’re sorry? I have some funny balloons we can add. They’ll make her smile, I guarantee you!”
“They, ah, aren’t for Laura.”
She stopped, then a wide smile split her face. Her eyes crinkled and danced. “Oh, romantic flowers?”
“Um, have a great day sort of flowers,” I replied, wishing I’d gone to Mitchell or another little town.
“O…kay,” she drawled. “What did you have in mind?”
“No idea. Something bright, maybe?”
“What does she like? Any allergies?”
I blinked. Who knew buying flowers involved so many details. “Look, Martha, I don’t know. Can you make me up a nice bouquet that smells good and looks…impressive? Noticeable.”
She tapped her chin. “In a vase or out?”
I frowned. What were the chances Quinn had a vase at the restaurant?
“In.”
“Gimme ten,” she said. “And by impressive, you mean about a hundred bucks or so?”
“Will that be noticeable?”
“From anywhere in the room. No matter how big.”
“Perfect.”
Twenty minutes later, I carried a large vase of flowers into Kind of a Big Dill. Part of me wished I’d had them delivered, but then I wouldn’t be able to make my point.