Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Okay, I’m done.” He shakes his head. “I’ll let Frank know you’re cool with the tire and brake work.”
“Wait,” I call as he shows me his back. “Have dinner with me.”
“I don’t do the whole dating thing,” he throws over his shoulder.
I sigh. “It’s only food.”
Turned away, I can’t read his expression, but his voice is full of mirth. “You’re not going to leave me alone about this either, are you?”
“It’s better to just give in.” I’ve honestly never flirted this hard with a man before. But maybe I just haven’t met one as stubborn as Jack McCoy.
“Fine.” He glances back at me. “I’ll be at my brother’s bar tonight. If you happen to be there to grab some dinner, then so be it.”
I watch as he walks off in a huff, pretending to be annoyed with me, but I don’t think he really is. I think he enjoys our banter. Why else would he volunteer where he’ll be tonight?
I grin the whole way back to my blanket. Why does this man intrigue me so much? Maybe I like getting under his skin. Maybe I like how he fucks me. Or maybe this sleepy beachside town is growing on me.
8
JACK
Christ, the man either bugs the shit out of me or ignores me. At least that’s what he did when he picked up his car this afternoon, with his tanned skin from a day at the beach on full display.
He’d spoken to Frank for quite a while in the garage—it sounded more like flirting, but who am I to judge? He’s not beholden to fucking only me when in town, but Frank isn’t even queer. He dates a ton of women, and I’ve known him my whole life. But he’s nice to look at. I’ll give him that. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Aaron was flirting on purpose to get me worked up.
But I’m not going to take the bait.
When the service garage closes for the day and Mike arrives for his nighttime shift, Frank and I go our separate ways. Frank is headed to his parents’ house, and I’m grabbing dinner with my siblings at the Witching Hour.
My brother spots my arrival and gives me an up-nod in greeting. I sidle up to where June sits on a stool, enjoying a glass of wine with an appetizer.
“How’s it going?” Johnny asks with a fist bump. It feels like an informal family gathering without our parents. Mom would always say she hoped we remained close, and we’ve tried hard. Aunt Dina, Mom’s sister, helped keep her memory alive by suggesting we continue the monthly barbecue tradition at the house where we were raised. Johnny lives there now, having inherited it after they passed. He tends to take things in stride and volunteered immediately to host family gatherings. Though he doesn’t have to do all the cooking. We all bring something to share, and with Aunt Dina, Uncle Chuck, and Cain, it feels almost the same as before. Except not.
“Pretty good. You?”
“Business has been slower than usual but holding steady.”
June frowns. “The annual rib fest and the art fair will make up for it as usual.”
Johnny enjoys staying busy—which is likely the reason he came up with the annual foodie event at his bar—but his reasons for staying busy are different from mine and June’s. June does it to fill her time, first at the diner for the breakfast shift, then at Honeycomb to help Aunt Dina a few afternoons a week. The routine suits them, and they’ve grown closer since the accident. It’s not like they don’t have friends or other things to keep them occupied, like Aunt Dina’s sewing circle and June’s book club, but since the accident, being surrounded by family feels more comfortable for all of us.
Before, I’d been perfectly content hanging out on my back porch or in my photography studio. Dad always teased that I was hiding, and maybe I was, but I’ve always been more introverted than my siblings.
Frank can bring out a more gregarious side of me after a few beers, but that’d mostly been in our younger days. When life felt less burdensome and more carefree.
“I’ll have a beer,” I say to Johnny as he wipes down the bar with the towel he always keeps over his shoulder.
“Any food?” he asks, knowing I’m normally famished after work.
I hesitate for a moment, not looking at the door but thinking back to how Aaron and I left our conversation on the beach.
“Hand me a menu,” I reply, stalling for time.
His eyebrows draw together as he reaches for one under the bar. “You know it inside out.”
I scoff. “Maybe I wanna look at it again.”
He hands me the menu, which essentially consists of a handful of food items and the weekly beers on tap. “Suit yourself.”