Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
I laugh humorlessly, even bitterly. Of course, she thinks I’m talking about meeting for work. A young woman with her mind on her job, meeting her hero from when she was a kid, won’t assume automatically that I want to sink my hands into her sweet hips. No, definitely not that.
CHAPTER SIX
LILY
Maddie sits cross-legged on the beanbag chair, her fingers drumming on her knee. She’s wearing denim shorts and a loose-fitting tank top that shows her athletic build. Her hair is a bright blond, styled perfectly in ringlets around her shoulders, a by-product of her job at the salon.
“I seriously think he was asking you on a date,” she says.
I roll my eyes. “He just asked to grab a bite.”
“Yeah, and then you replied, Sure, let’s meet for work, and he hasn’t responded in hours. He was probably over the moon, excited about finally meeting the lady of his dreams. Now he’s in his own personal Shakespearean tragedy, probably talking to a skull, wondering why you rejected him.”
“Ha ha,” I grunt sarcastically. “I seriously doubt it, Maddie.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
Before I can answer, Mom pops her head into my bedroom door. Seeing Landon has reminded me of what she was like ten years ago, beanpole-thin with her hair falling out from self-abuse and stress. Now, she’s back to her natural full figure and round, happy face.
“You girls want some cocoa?”
“Sure, Mom,” I say with a smile. “Thanks.”
Maddie gives me a look when Mom leaves us. “I take it you haven’t told her?”
I shrug. “What would the point be?”
Maddie shrugs. “I guess she might be interested. It’s a pretty cool coincidence. Did you tell Landon that he was the one who inspired you to want to go into social work?”
“Yeah, I did, but it came out super dorky. I’m pretty sure it made him uncomfortable. Do you think it was a mistake?”
“Well, if you’re not happy with how it came out, you’ve got another chance to discuss it …”
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “He hasn’t texted back.”
“Because he’s heartbroken and offended.”
“Please, Maddie.”
She frowns at the change in my tone. “I’m sorry. I went too far.”
“It’s fine,” I mutter. “It’s just …”
What if she’s right and, now that I’ve rejected him once, he wants nothing to do with me? Yet if that’s the case, I shouldn’t care. If he’s that shallow, it should mean nothing to me anyway.
“He was my hero,” I whisper. “For years in high school, when I was busting my ass to win that scholarship, I’d often think about him. In college, when I thought I would miss a deadline, I’d remember how in control he seemed when Mom had her meltdowns with him and was screaming at him, telling him he had to save her family. He was just ice-cold and calm.”
“He sounds like a good man,” Maddie says.
“He spends his life helping others for free. He’s probably the best man I’ve ever met.”
“Sounds like hus—Sorry.”
Sounds like husband material, she was about to say, clearly, but stops herself. I grin and playfully flip her the bird. We’re so close. We can do stuff like this, and know we could only ever mean it as a joke; she flips me off right back.
I laugh, rolling my eyes. “See, Maddie? This is why I love you so much. No matter what, you can always make me laugh.”
“That’s all you,” she replies. “If I had your job, I don’t think I’d ever smile again.”
“This is what I’m always arguing with Carter about. He thinks the misery of our work has to make us miserable. I think the more depressing one part of your life is, the harder you have to work to make the rest bright and happy. It should be a break, but he tortures himself with it.”
“He’s been doing it for almost twenty years,” Maddie says softly.
The unspoken message is clear. Maybe, once that much time has passed with me on the job, I’ll be just as bad as him. I shrug, picking up my cell phone and checking it—still nothing. Maybe Maddie was right. Perhaps he meant this to be a date.
Or, more likely, he’s busy and hasn’t had time to respond yet.
That night, sleep comes far slower than it usually does. I roll from one side of the bed to the other, trying to resist the urge to check my cell phone. The whole reason I put my cell on silent was so that I wouldn’t have to think about my unanswered message.
When I fail and recheck it—probably for the tenth time—and see no messages, I roll over, pushing my face into the pillow. My memory is alive with the fallout when I was a kid. I remember Mom rushing me to the closet, talking with more energy than I was accustomed to.
“I haven’t been the best mom, but I will get us safe, baby. I’m going to get us away from him. I’ve found somebody who can help …”