Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
The alcohol heats my skin, and I welcome the warm, relaxing sensation that eats away my stress—if only for a while.
“I was raised here in Alden, remember?” I swirl the liquid around my glass. “There was an expectation of modesty. We didn’t talk about sex or things like that. My friends and I would secretly trade romance novels to try to learn what we could.”
“Ah, the perfect romance hero. That’s where you went wrong.”
“No, they exist. But finding one isn’t as easy as breaking down in the middle of a cornfield. They don’t pop up out of nowhere.”
She grins. “I’m sure they do exist. I’m just too jaded to want the perfect hero.”
“Why is that?”
She studies me for a long time, pausing to take a long drink. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
“I don’t tell people what I do for a living. Not because I’m ashamed,” she says. “Just because I don’t want to hear the judgment.”
“Okay . . .”
“I clean houses topless.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
She shrugs. “I have a roster of men—most of them business owners or men who travel to town regularly for golf or business meetings. And I clean their homes or wherever they happen to be . . . topless.”
“In Alden?”
“No. I go to Cleveland or Cincinnati. I have a security guy who goes with me to make sure nothing goes wrong, and we run background checks. We have nondisclosure agreements. I don’t really even take new clients at this point, because my regulars treat me so well.”
I glance at her chest. I bet they do.
She sighs. “Look, Gabby, we only live once. Why not live life the way you want? Why be scared or tiptoe around it? Grab whatever it is that makes you happy and run while you can.” She snickers. “People can judge me while sitting at home in their miserable, boring lives while I take my money and head to Italy for a month in the summer and Germany for December.”
“Grab whatever it is that makes you happy and run while you can.” Her words ring through my brain on repeat.
“Excuse me for just a moment,” she says. “I’m going to go say hello to a friend.”
“Sure. Go. I’m fine.”
She slides out of the booth and sashays her way across the bar. As soon as she’s gone, I let out a long, hasty breath.
“Grab whatever it is that makes you happy and run while you can.”
It’s been a long time since I had the ability to think that way. And as much as I love the sentiment—and the freedom that comes with it—it’s not that easy. I’m a single mother. Yes, I can try and plan and want to integrate things into my life that make me happy. But at the end of the day, those plans are contingent upon how they impact the most important thing in my life: my children.
They are my priority.
I’ll have to find a happy medium, a balance between what invigorates me but doesn’t detract from the boys. I hope to God I can find it.
I can imagine Christopher saying those words to me too. “You deserve a lover, someone to appreciate all the wild goodness you have to offer.”
I did have a wild goodness about me then. I lived my life instead of surviving it. I went after what I wanted.
How do I get back to that, get back to her?
“Gabby, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Heath and his friend Bryant,” Della says, snapping me out of my reverie. “Guys, this is my new neighbor, Gabby.”
Wow.
If someone asked me to select two men from this bar that Della would know, it would be these two. They’re young—midtwenties, at best. Fit as hell. Their arms stretch the fabric of their Polo shirts, and their necks are nothing short of tree trunks. And their smiles? To die for.
Della and Heath sit across from me. His bright-blue eyes are the same color as his shirt.
I look up at Bryant. “Do you wanna sit?”
“I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” he says, sitting next to me.
Charisma pours out of him as he watches me with a cocky grin. He chews gum with a deliberateness that draws attention to his mouth. I can imagine those lips doing many things to a lucky lady.
“So, Gabby,” he says, ignoring the others. “Tell me about you.”
I take a drink to wet my throat. “What do you want to know?”
“We can cut to the chase, and I can ask if you’re single.”
His smile is devilish, and I feel it in places that could get me in trouble.
I laugh.
“Why are you laughing, mama?” he asks.
My laugh grows louder. “I get that’s a slang term these days, but it’s awkward when I could almost be your mother.”
“Age is just a number.” He smirks. “And you’re fine as hell.”