Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I glance at Ben, a bit embarrassed by the filthy thoughts running through my mind, to find him staring at me openly, still burning in his desire for me. The heat in his smile makes me a little afraid he can read my mind.
Kaitlyn bends down so her voice only carries between the three of us. “Guys, you gotta keep it child-friendly, or you’re gonna get me in trouble. Got it?” She looks from Ben to me and back. “Side note, Hope . . .” She holds her hand up, and I almost think she’s going to slap me, but then she smiles. “Hell yeah, girl!” I high-five her palm in surprise.
“Here, let me take those if you’re done.” Kaitlyn points at the strawberry tops before we can say anything else. She throws them in the trash bag she’s carrying and then dances off toward another couple, playing hostess with the mostest.
I can’t help but giggle. I’ve never been told to cool it because I’m behaving inappropriately, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.
Chapter 12
BEN
Breathe into you, witness you come alive. Give you all I am, so long as you survive.
Hope is fucking stunning. Once she got over her embarrassment at being called out by Kaitlyn, she truly joins the Strawberry Moon party.
She brings us the makings for s’mores, and we hold marshmallows over the fire, playfully arguing about when they’re done. I’m Team Blackened, of course, and Hope likes hers barely toasted. Regardless of who’s right or wrong, they’re delicious.
Afterward, she gets roped into a game of Simon Says with a group of kids, which I quickly opt out of. That lets me watch her smile and play, which is adorable, even if it makes me think of the kids she said she wants. It’s obvious that Hope will be a great mom.
I’ve never seen myself as a father. I don’t know how to imagine that because I don’t know what dads do . . . or are. I’ve been so one-track minded that a future with a wife, kids, and all that never occurred to me. It’s always been music, music, music, but seeing the way Hope interacts with the kids plants a tiny seed I’ve never considered.
“Who’s Simon, anyway? And why does he get to decide what we do?” a little voice demands. One of the girls playing is apparently “out” because she moved when Simon didn’t say. And she’s about to have a meltdown in three, two, one . . .
“It’s okay,” Hope comforts her. “It’s hard when we lose a game, right?” The girl nods, sniffling but not screaming like I’d expected. “I’m actually not sure who Simon is, but that’s how the game goes.”
The girl pouts. “Then I don’t want to play.”
“Okay, we could do something else,” Hope offers, and she glances up, meeting my eyes. “Hey! My friend over there is a really good singer. Maybe we could get him to sing a song about strawberries for us.”
I’m shaking my head, mouthing, No, and glaring at Hope with every bit of fuck that in my eyes. And still, she smiles. The little girl is smiling, too, looking eager at the possibility. But it’s Hope who is my undoing.
“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to say,” Hope tells me.
“I don’t sing in front of people . . . not like this. Singing on the boat was a big deal.” Maybe I should’ve made that clear because there’s no way I can do what she wants me to do. I can already feel the panic bubbling up. It seems like everyone’s looking at me, but when I dart my eyes around, the only ones I see are Hope’s. No one else is paying me any attention . . . yet. But when I start to sing, they will. And then all those nerves will rise to the surface, making my voice crack and my heart race. “I can’t.”
“If I can run away from my wedding, you can sing ‘Strawberry Wine’ with me,” Hope commands, sounding sure of herself. And of me.
Wait . . . what?
The shock of what she’s said short-circuits the anxiety, and I think maybe I misheard her. “You’re gonna sing with me?” I repeat.
She pats me on the chest, her touch easy and casual like she’s done it hundreds of times before, but it’s new and fresh, the buzz of it centering me instantly. “Don’t get excited. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but I’m a rock star in my car,” she brags with zero shame.
Kaitlyn seems to have caught wind that something’s up, because she rushes over. “Oh my goodness, are you going to sing?”
I don’t know if she’s asking Hope or me. I know my answer: fuck no.
“Yeah, we are. Is ‘Strawberry Wine’ okay? It’s the only strawberry song I know. You know it, too, right, Ben?” Hope looks at me like this is a done deal. And maybe for her, it is.