Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
I nodded. “I will.”
“Tonight?” Lindsey encouraged.
I sighed. “Yes.”
“It has to be done,” she reminded me.
I nodded again. Now I felt twice as guilty for not saying anything. Not only was Mike going to be affected by the news, but now my boss would be expecting progress. Don’t get me wrong, Lindsey was a great friend, but it was obvious she had the business in mind when I spilled my secret. I couldn’t be a flake where my job was concerned. I was going to have to tell Mike tonight.
Ipicked out the best blouse in my closet, holding it up to my chest. It was salmon colored with a collar. Unlike Lindsey, I didn’t know a great deal about fashion. Case in point, I had to borrow clothes for my first two dates with Mike. I slipped the blouse on and looked at myself in the mirror. Paired with jeans, the fancy top made me look like I cared enough to dress up, but I was still a casual girl at heart.
I went to find Mike in the living room and model my choices. He nodded his appreciation. “Better than that little skirt you wore on our second date.”
“Really?” I tilted my head.
He held out one hand, encouraging me to take it. When I did, he pulled me down onto his lap. “You look beautiful whatever you’re wearing, but this looks more like you.”
I blushed. “I borrowed the whole outfit from Lindsey.”
“I suspected,” he said. “And the little black dress?”
“That was Macy’s,” I confirmed.
He kissed my shoulder, avoiding my mouth because we only had a few minutes left.
“But if I hadn’t worn the black dress, would you even have noticed me?” I asked playfully.
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “There was only one gorgeous woman from Austin trying to get laid that night. And I was lucky enough to go home with her.” He squeezed me around the waist, setting off alarm bells in my mind.
I gently detached myself from his embrace and stood up. “We’ll be late.”
“Right.” He stood, wearing exactly what he had been wearing all day.
He obviously felt no desire to impress or dress to the occasion. I wondered if I was the only one who was nervous but discarded that idea as soon as it occurred. Mike was so obviously anxious about tonight, when I found him in the living room he had just been sitting on the couch. No TV, no phone, no book or anything, just sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. I remembered his father and how affectionate he had been. Surely, his mom couldn’t be that bad.
We climbed into Mike’s truck and made the short trip back to the lumberyard. Mike helped me out of the cab, and we walked hand in hand to the front door. He rang the doorbell, whispering, “I usually go to the kitchen door. And I usually don’t knock.”
I squeezed his hand for luck, facing the most daunting closed door I had seen in a while. This felt like a job interview or a doctor’s appointment. Whatever was going to happen inside was likely to be unpleasant, but I would have to soldier on, pretending that it was all in good fun. I could feel my palms beginning to sweat, wrapped around Mike’s knuckles. I dropped his hand and wiped mine on my jeans.
Just then, the door opened, and a stout older woman in an old-fashioned dress answered. Her face broke into a smile, and I felt relief wash over me. She waved me forward into a hug, and I wondered if Mike had been talking about the same woman.
“It’s so good to meet you,” Mrs. Newbury gushed, stepping aside so we could enter.
“Mom.” Mike planted a kiss on top of her head.
“Would you like some coffee or tea?” the woman asked.
“Coffee,” both Mike and I said in unison. We glanced at each other, sharing one surprising moment that helped to disperse a lot of the tension.
“Please, have a seat.” Mike’s mom led us to an immaculate room with a couch and two high-backed chairs.
Mike found my hand again and squeezed it before his mom left the room. “We never sit in here,” he whispered.
I could tell that was true. The couch and the chairs were white, the carpet plush and untouched. The photographs on the wall showed a happy family of three in various places. Mike holding a trophy on a football field, the family holding fishing poles near a lake, the family at Disneyland. Some expensive knickknacks adorned a table and a bookshelf in the corner. There was a delicately painted flower vase with plastic flowers, a tiny music box shaped like a piano, and a dish of potpourri.
I sidestepped the couch and went to the bookcase, picking up the music box. “My grandmother had something like this,” I said, winding the crank. A moment later, high-pitched music filled the space.