Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Finally, Macy turned around. “Shall we go?” She looked excited, like Cinderella about to embark on an evening of magic.
I laughed. “Sure, where do you want to go?”
“The Lucky Lady?” Macy suggested.
We walked back to my car and drove to the Lady. Inside, it was cozy and busy but not slammed. We found a seat and sat down, then ordered drinks and appetizers to share. When the chicken wings came, we got messy fingers and couldn’t figure out how to work the napkin dispenser on the table.
“Excuse me.” Macy stood up and invaded someone else’s table. “Can we borrow some napkins?” Her fingers were drenched with barbeque sauce, and she was having trouble keeping a straight face.
As soon as she returned with the napkins, we both broke into hysterics. It was good to count Macy among my friends. I had a feeling that we might grow even closer. If Dillon was friends with Jason and we were all living in neighboring cabins, the chances of a lasting friendship were high.
“So, tell me about Jason.” Macy wiped sauce from her fingers. “Geez, I’m as messy as the kids.”
“He’s nice,” I said hesitantly. “I think it’s going to work out fine.”
“What’s the gift for?” she asked.
“It’s a… housewarming gift,” I lied. Studying her face, I decided to confess. “I also misjudged him, so it’s an apology gift as well.”
Macy nodded.
“He likes woodworking,” I added.
“I wasn’t sure about Dillon when we first met,” Macy admitted, “but he’s a good man. Jason is too. I think it will all work out.” I held my glass across the table for a tap. Macy obliged, saying, “Cheers.”
We drank and enjoyed the rest of our meal, trading stories about cabins and the rugged men who lived in them. When I drove Macy home, I realized just how close our respective homesteads were and how lucky I was to have a friend in the neighborhood.
15
JASON
Ihad brought my work home with me. I tried not to do that, but sometimes it was unavoidable. I wanted to type up everything we had on the hair salon, to get it all in one place so maybe I could see patterns I had been missing. My boss had kicked me out of the station house at seven, and I had just come home into the office that doubled as a hairstyling practice space that I shared with Lindsey.
I had picked up a desk at a garage sale and had my laptop, and that was all I needed. Despite saying that she needed half of this room, there were no mannequins with wigs or hairstyling implements in residence. I wasn’t going to say anything, though. If she wanted half the room, she was welcome to it, per our agreement. In the meantime, I was just as happy to work without vacant eyes staring at my back.
I checked the clock on my laptop. It was nine o’clock in the evening, and Lindsey still wasn’t home. It felt strange living with a woman again. I was worried about her a little, even though I had no claim on her time. The only other woman I had ever lived with would stay out late on purpose to mess with me. I wondered if Lindsey was okay or if she was avoiding me.
Last night, she had been uncommunicative and clearly upset. I wasn’t sure what that was all about, but fairly certain it had something to do with our ill-advised tryst. Whatever had happened in Lindsey’s head, I should have known there was no such thing as a one and done. I was going to have to patch things up somehow. Of course, I couldn’t do that until she got home, so I kept one eye on the time in the lower-right-hand corner as I worked.
At ten thirty, I heard the crunch of tires outside and breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t my girlfriend, my sister, or my wife, but she was a friend, and I was a cop. I had too much experience with violence against women to fully relax until she was safe.
I thought about getting up and saying something. But what would I say? Where have you been? That was none of my business. How was your day? That seemed like dinner table conversation or something idle to fill the time, not a question one would get up purposefully to ask. Are we good? That was exactly the question that I wanted to ask, but I wasn’t sure if the time was right.
She was home, she was safe, and she was likely still pissed at me, I told myself. Instead of going out to talk to her, I forced myself to concentrate on my work. A moment later, there was a knock at my door.
“Come in!” I called, getting up from my seat.
Lindsey opened the door and peered inside. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”