Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I finally force myself to step away. I have to physically halt myself from kissing him. I’m still not sure what exactly happened yesterday, though I think we would have been fine if we hadn’t been kind of walked in on. There was no getting the groove back after that. We still haven’t fallen into it. I don’t know if we ever will again, but it can’t be forced.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.”
He grins a cocky, arrogant grin, but I can see the doubt underneath and the sharp edge of his own fear and adrenaline that hasn’t worn off yet. It took a crazy amount of courage to go all the way up in that tree.
“Bokmaster is okay, too,” he says, sounding understandably relieved.
“Yep, I’m glad she’s okay as well. Although, I think she gave you the chicken version of flipping you off as soon as you took her out of the sack.”
“She doesn’t understand, but she’s probably glad to be back down. She’ll come for pets later and cluck at me to show there are no hard feelings about being shoved in a sack.”
“I should hope so. You saved her life.”
“I’m sure she knows.”
“This would make a funny story. Why did the chicken climb the tree? Before, you said I’d be good at selling children’s books.”
He rubs his jaw like he’s embarrassed. “I…yeah. I did.” Yeah, he was just being an asshole when he said that to me. He didn’t want me here. Does he want me here now? I think it’s easier to put on a huge asshole production to drive someone away than it is to simply just tell them that they’re okay right where they are.
But am I? Am I okay right where I am? We’re counting down the days now. After today, there are only three days left.
Without saying anything else, Thaddius turns around to tackle the ladder. He removes it from the tree, folds the metal steps into each other, and carries it back to the barn. I know he’s not turning his back on me or telling me that he doesn’t want to talk. He’s just making a temporary escape. He’ll be back in for breakfast, and I don’t care how awkward it might be because I’m making it anyway. We worked together again. I might not have done a lot except offer rather helpless moral support from the ground and hold a ladder, but it’s another thing we did together.
I’m pretty sure if we can get a chicken down from a towering old maple, we can take on just about anything. But being pretty sure isn’t all the way sure, and those three days are weighing heavily on me. Three days aren’t enough to make any decisions, let alone ones that are going to impact us and our families forever.
Three days aren’t enough for me to spend here and then probably never see this place, or Thaddius, again.
CHAPTER 17
Thaddius
“That’s it, Gertrude. Up we go.” I help the sheep onto the milking stand, and she bleats at me. Not a scared sound, but a friendly—I trust you to milk me so I can give you the gift of the best cheese on earth—baaaahhhhh.
I rarely take my phone into the barn or outside with me, but for some reason, I stuck it in my jeans this morning. It suddenly goes off loudly, scaring the ever-living hell out of Gertrude, and this time, the baaaahhhhh is all alarmed.
“Whoa, girl. It’s alright.” I let her off the stand, and even though she races through the barn and straight outside, I let her go.
I expect that it’s my mom or my granny. Since they promised not to show up for the duration of the week, they’re going to call. And call. And call. I expected this. They can’t help themselves. Maybe that’s why I brought my phone out here. I know if I ignore them, they’ll automatically assume I died, and if not, they’ll still tell me they thought so anyway and will show up here claiming legit panic.
The number isn’t one I recognize immediately. But then I do. It’s the car shop. “Hello?”
“Hi, Thaddius?”
“Hi, John. What’s up?” Part of me hopes he’s calling to say the parts are delayed. That it’s going to take another week. That they put it together, but something else is still wrong, so they’re going to need a few more days. Something. Anything. Just a little bit more time.
It’s the part of me that is confused. The part I’ll probably deny is there until the day I die. Having these thoughts feels very much like a secret to the grave contract between my mind and soul. I haven’t sorted out what I’ve been feeling these past few days. There’s been too big a range, too many grandma and mother interruptions, too many expectations, and so many downs, but that isn’t just it.