Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
All I can think is that she’s seeing him and they’re a thing. That is the overwhelming instinct. That she’s a cheater and I’m the other man. It’s more than just disappointment that pangs in my chest.
“Look, if there’s something you aren’t telling me …” I start to say and my words halt her even though I stay seated. “… I can take it if you just aren’t interested.” I swear if I move an inch, I won’t be able to stop myself from following her.
She looks hurt, then I realize it’s more than that. Shit. The way her expression falls, it’s obvious my words crushed her. I feel the need to apologize but I don’t have a chance.
“It’s just a little complicated for me, Brody.” Her words sound strangled and unlike the other times that telltale feeling of eyes watching us has crept up on me, Magnolia seems oblivious to it, lost in her own chaotic thoughts. “If I didn’t want you, I would tell you. I just need … I need a little time.”
“I understand that, and—” She’s already walking away before I can finish. Before I can tell her I’m sorry.
The other guests are quiet and I know they’re watching. I replay the scene in my head and I wish I could rewind, be less … anxious and pushy with her. Is that what I was? She’s got me so turned around I don’t know what I’m even doing anymore.
Other than playing the part of a fool. There’s something she’s not telling me and I think it has to do with whomever she saw just then. It feels like everyone around me already knows. The waitress is polite enough to ask if I just want the check when she comes out. And kind enough not to mention the fact that my date just took off.
She’s not polite enough to gossip a bit, though, and tell me the guy Magnolia spotted is some dude named Robert and that they used to be a thing.
“Used to?” I press her and the blond waitress shrugs, not wanting to give me any more information.
The questions pile up and as I sit there, waiting on the bill and our lunches the waitress offered to box up for me, not that I’m in the mood for eating any of it, I text Griffin.
I thought the town said she’s single. That’s what you told me. But it doesn’t look that way.
His response is telling: There might be a complication … or two.
MAGNOLIA
A little over two years ago
Knock, knock, knock. The knocking at the front door is hesitant. My tired eyes lift from the open laptop I’ve been staring at for hours and travel to the front door. As I rise up off the sofa, I peek down the hall. Bridget should be sound asleep for the night; she’s been sleeping so well recently, which has been a blessing. Still, I hold my breath as I tiptoe to the front door wondering who’s knocking at nine o’clock at night.
It can only be Robert or Renee, but they wouldn’t knock.
I have to stand on my tiptoes to peek through the peephole and see Robert combing his hand through his dirty blond hair as he glances behind him.
My heart does a little flutter, but it’s an odd one. Not one filled with the kind of anticipation I’m used to feeling when I see him.
Probably because his expression holds a hint of concern and he didn’t text before dropping by. As the lock slides from the bolt, I’m very well aware that he would have normally texted beforehand.
The door creaks open and instantly the chill of the sea breeze air clings to my bare shoulders which were covered by the blanket only a moment ago.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask instantly and step back, wanting more of the heat of my apartment over the crisp autumn air. “You didn’t text,” I say, adding the explanation as Robert steps in, closing the door and apologizing at the same time.
“Sorry,” he says as he loosens the tie around his neck and unbuttons the top button of his shirt. It’s a simple white button-up but it’s wrinkled, probably from sitting in meetings all day. The black dress pants and leather belt complete the new look he’s had since he started working at Town Hall.
“It’s my dad,” he starts, flopping down on the sofa. Dead smack in the center of it, which is his spot.
I’ve always had a hard time controlling my expression, mostly because of my rebellious brows. So when they quirk up, the left one arched as if to respond, “Your dad? Seriously?” Robert only laughs and pats the right cushion next to him. My spot. It boasts the still-warm blanket that I cuddle into as I sit beside him. My laptop is open on the coffee table and Robert gets a peek.