Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Taylor: Hey, stranger, it’s been forever. Call me.
I close the text and put it in my back pocket, making a mental note to call her and finally end things with her. Even though we have never been a couple or exclusive, she needs to know that I’m not available anymore.
I’m almost tempted to leave the apple pie Harmony made this morning in the car and not take it in. But as soon as I get there, I grab the plate from the passenger seat and then get out. When I walk up the steps to the house, the front door is open as always when he’s home, with just the storm door to stop you from walking in. “Hello!” I shout out once I step in, and no one responds to me, so I know they are in the back. I walk through the house toward the back and see them. My father sits in his chair on the back porch, and Autumn sits in the chair next to him. Her hand is in his as they talk, and he says something to make her laugh. His color looks a bit better today as I walk over to the counter and place the pie on it. I grab two plates and a knife. I opt to bring the whole pie outside, knowing they will want seconds.
“Well, well, well,” Autumn says and then stops when she sees me with the plates in one hand and the pie in the other. “Is that—”
“Apple pie,” I finish for her, and I see my father’s eyes light up. I suddenly wish Harmony was here to see not everything in this town is bad. There is good, and the good will always outweigh the bad.
“Shut up,” Autumn says, reaching for the whole pie, but I give her an empty plate instead, which earns me a glare. My father chuckles at her as I sit in the empty chair, cutting a piece of pie and giving my father the first one. “I want the bigger piece,” she demands automatically, making my father laugh. “I’m carrying a human inside me.” She points at her stomach, reaching over for the knife and cutting her own piece, which looks like double the size of what my father has. He waits for her to have the piece on her plate as she dances in her seat, grabbing a fork.
“Now can I sit down?” I ask, walking over to the chair and pulling it out, as she takes her fork and takes her own bite. She moans and closes her eyes, holding her fork up to stop me from talking. “Let me enjoy this for a second before you ruin my buzz.”
I can’t help but chuckle at that, taking my seat in front of them. “Wouldn’t want to ruin her buzz,” I mumble and wait for her to open her eyes again. “And I took her a cake yesterday.”
“Yeah.” She nods. “Charlie took two pieces from it, and now we are debating having him in the delivery room.”
“Autumn,” my father hisses.
“Dad, he took food out of his child’s mouth. Who does that?” she asks him, taking another piece of pie. “Now, let’s focus on this one”—she points at me with the fork once she’s cleaned the piece of pie off it—“and what he’s getting himself into.”
“Yes,” my father agrees with her while he takes his own piece, “let’s talk about things.” I lean back in the chair, feeling like I’m a teenager who got caught sneaking back into the house. “There have been whispers.”
“Of course there have been.” I roll my eyes. “What’s the chatter now?”
“Is it chatter if it’s true?” my father asks me the loaded question. “Now, it would be one thing if people spread false narratives out there. Like you didn’t hire Winston’s wife to help work at the bar.”
My hands go into fists at the words Winston’s wife. “Soon-to-be ex,” I hiss, and my father’s eyebrows go up, but his smirk also comes out. “But, yes, I did. Next.”
“And she’s living with you?” my father asks, but the question really isn’t a question. It feels like more of a statement.
“Someone’s in trouble,” Autumn sings to me as she chews another piece of pie.
I look over at her and know she will not like what I say next. “I’m going to forget to deliver a cake next time.”
“When I give birth to this child,” she hisses, “I’m going to kick your ass.”
“So is she living with you?” My father ignores my sister's wrath by continuing the conversation.
“She is,” I confirm to him, and then fill him in on what happened the last couple of days. I see his face get harder and harder by the time I’m at the end of it. His hand grips the fork in a death grip, and it has nothing to do with him eating the pie.