Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
He has tattoos on his left bicep, just barely peeking out from the under the sleeve of his shirt. Sinking onto my bed, I pull my tank top off, totally not thinking about whether or not those tattoos go up his arm, over his shoulder, and down his chest. Which, of course, is firm and muscular.
Shaking my head, I let out a sigh and finish getting undressed. I already brushed my teeth and washed my face, so once I’m stripped down to my underwear, I pull a clean t-shirt over my head and crawl under the covers. A rare sense of peace washes over me when I turn off the bedside lamp, and I turn so I can look out the dark window. The horse barn is to the side of the house, and I can see the faint glow of its exterior lights from the window.
We’re here. We’re safe. Everly is happy, and she made a friend on day one. I’m definitely taking Heather up on her offer of help to get Ev enrolled at Silver Ridge High, and I make a mental note to talk to her tomorrow when they come back to help around the barn.
My eyes fall shut and I get a flash of the hot guy from the feed store again. And then, of course, I start to feel really stupid for not testing the shelf’s strength before I climbed up on it. Not wanting to get embarrassed all over again, I try to shift my thoughts to the horses, making another mental note of everything I want to try and tackle tomorrow. I spent more time cleaning today than I planned, so tomorrow I’d like to work with Freya more so I can gain her trust.
Letting out a happy sigh, I nestle into my pillow. My thoughts are on the horses, but my dreams take me back to the feed store, back to that handsome stranger with the pretty blue eyes.
I raise my glass of iced tea. “Here’s to Everly’s first week of school.”
“Cheers!” Aunt Kim raises her glass as well, clinking against mine.
“Mom,” Everly says through gritted teeth, looking around Silver Cafe, already embarrassed that I told the waitress we’re celebrating a successful first week at a new school as well as ordering her an ice cream sundae with extra sprinkles.
“You know what you don’t realize until it’s over?” I raise my eyebrows, taking a sip of my tea while I look at my daughter.
“What?” she deadpans.
“The older you get, the less people cheer for you. Remember when it was a big deal if you ate all your food? Or made your bed?”
Everly’s face slowly falls. “Oh my god. You’re right. How depressing.”
Aunt Kim laughs. “So, let’s celebrate, kiddo. Starting at a new school isn’t easy.”
Everly nods and picks up the coffee she insisted she wanted along with dinner. “I really like it.” She’s trying hard to keep the big smile off her face. I know both from talking with her and from getting some behind-the-scenes details from Heather that Everly is fitting in really well here. She and Maria are in the same grade, and Heather pulled some strings to get them in several classes together. Everly went to a movie with Maria and her friends last night, and she’s going to Maria’s tonight after dinner for a bonfire and sleepover.
“I’m glad,” I tell her. “It’s a good fit for you.”
“I want to go here next year,” Everly adds, voice dropping at the end. This is a temporary thing, and we still have our house in Indy.
“I know,” I say and take another drink to keep my mind from whirling.
“There are several houses for sale here,” Aunt Kim chimes in. “And I’m more than happy to let you stay with me until you found something.”
“Can we, Mom?” Everly brings her hands up, begging. “Please?”
“It’s…it’s not that simple.” I put my drink down. “You know I’ve been doing sales and being within driving distance to Purdue University is necessary for that.”
“But you hate sales,” Everly counters and I know we’re close to taking a nice night and turning it into something tense. Teenagers have a way of doing that. It’s like a secret talent they all possess. I can’t disagree either because I do hate sales. I hate being fake and hate myself a bit each time I put on a low cut dress or a tight skirt, knowing the old, nasty men I’m trying to pitch pharmaceuticals to are more likely to buy our products when the sales rep is visually appealing to them.
The feminist in me hasn’t decided if that’s deplorable behavior, using my body like that, or if it’s a boss-babe move to use what I’ve got to my advantage.
“Are you happy with your job?” Aunt Kim asks.
“It’s not my dream job,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “But it pays well and it’s mindless.” I took my computer onto the screened in porch during the week, going through data, double-checking that the charts and graphs sent in by the team I manage are accurate before I send them to my own manager. I can feel Aunt Kim’s eyes on me, but she doesn’t say anything further.