Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Harris and Greyson barely spoke anymore; because of their completely different personalities and interests, they had slowly drifted apart over the years, but Greyson’s accusation had been the final straw. It had hurt more than Harris cared to admit. He and Greyson may not have had that much in common, but Harris still loved his brother and would never in a million years have dreamed of accusing him of anything similar. The trust that they’d once had between them was gone, and Harris regretted its loss.
I wish . . .
He shook his head impatiently, inhaling sharply through his nose as the wistful thought entered his head.
No.
Harris didn’t do wishes; it was ridiculous and whimsical and completely out of character. He was more of an action man—he didn’t waste time dillydallying over wishes and could-have-beens.
He focused on his phone again and flipped through the latest batch of pictures Libby had sent him. A few selfies of her and Clara. Another selfie of Libby with her friend the chef—and ex-model—Christién Roche. He was tempted to send that picture to Greyson as well. Maybe it would prompt his cold-blooded brother to feel a bit of jealousy, knowing his wife was hanging out with a former male model. Libby looked happy and relaxed, and the shadows were disappearing from beneath her eyes. Harris was happy for her; he just hated that she was so far away.
He decided against sending the picture in the end, not entirely sure Greyson would give a damn.
He slid his finger over the screen, and his breath snagged.
Tina.
She was grinning directly into the camera, a big, beautiful smile that Harris would never see in real life. Tina tended to be selfish with her smiles when she found herself in his presence. Her hair was longer than it had been the last time he’d seen her, the gorgeous red mass tied up in a messy ponytail at the top of her head and cascading down over her shoulders. Her usually pale skin looked sun kissed and freckled.
God, she was absolutely beautiful. He had always thought so, and even when she’d been an awkward teen and embarrassingly obvious about her feelings for him, he’d never seen her the same way everyone else had. The extra pounds she carried had never mattered to him and, in his opinion, added to her overall appeal. And though Harris had developed a preference for slender, sporty women over the years, Tina had always pushed his buttons. She looked—and felt—soft and plush.
Maybe it was all that gorgeous creamy skin, maybe the fiery hair, perhaps the lush, full lips set in a round face with high cheekbones and snapping green eyes.
He hadn’t seen her in months. She had gone to the Garden Route with Libby, and he had always assumed that she was the one looking after Clara while Libby worked. He figured once Libby was settled, Tina would return to her cozy little flat in Bantry Bay. He had never imagined that she was thinking of settling there permanently. The thought of her being so far away was shockingly distressing. His hand lifted to absently toy with his pendant again as he considered the ramifications of never seeing her again.
Perhaps that would be better for both of them.
He was still staring at her picture, deep in thought, when the phone in his hand buzzed and Greyson’s name and picture popped up on his screen.
Frowning, he glared at the image of his brother, wondering what he wanted. If it was business, the man would have called him on his office number. They rarely exchanged personal calls and messages anymore.
He swiped his finger across the screen and lifted the device to his ear.
“Yeah?”
“I’m bringing them home.”
Tina was freaking out. Seriously . . . what the hell had made her think she could do this? She cast her eyes around the interior of her newly renovated, redecorated, and rebranded restaurant and felt a sense of accomplishment and pride mixed with an overwhelming urge to throw up.
MJ’s was unrecognizable from the establishment she had first walked into just over three months ago. She had made short work of purchasing the place; she had dropped Libby off at Chris’s restaurant three months ago, turned around, and headed straight back to MJ’s. Big money talked, and it was just a matter of finding the right price before Tommy Vincent, the owner, had crumbled like wet papier-mâché and sold the business of his granddad—the eponymous MJ. The restaurant had been Tina’s less than a month later.
Tina had had a clear vision of how she wanted the place to look and feel. Still family friendly, but with more of a country-cottage feel. Quaint, colorful, and welcoming. She had consulted with Libby every step of the way, Skyping or FaceTiming, once her friend finished her shifts at Chris’s restaurant. This project was as much Libby’s as it was Tina’s.