Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
I listened with wide eyes to the story of how they fell in love only after they’d already gotten married. “Are you serious? They hated each other and got married just to fool his family so he could inherit the construction business?”
“I’m sure they would tell the story differently, but yes, it was that ridiculous and we all thought they were crazy.” Beckett shook his head. “But somehow it worked out.”
“Seems like it.” I took a bite of my chicken. “And Griffin is married too?”
“He got married last December.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Nope, she’s from Nashville. She runs a bakery in Bellamy Creek—it’s really good. She makes amazing apple pie.”
“Is it as good as Betty Frankel’s?” I joked. Bellamy Creek’s claim to fame—at least according to a highway billboard outside town—was that it boasted the best apple pie in the Midwest since 1957.
“Actually, it is. Betty Frankel is gone now, but Blair Dempsey is keeping the legacy alive. Her place is right on Main Street.”
“I’ll definitely check it out.” I took a sip from the beer Beckett had brought me. “And Cole’s getting married too, huh? Next weekend?”
“Yes, next Saturday night.” He grimaced. “I have to give the toast.”
“You don’t want to?” I asked in surprise.
“It’s not that I don’t want to. I just don’t love public speaking. And talking about sentimental things is not my strong suit.”
“Well, Cole must trust you to do it right or else he wouldn’t have asked you.”
“He didn’t have a choice. Back in high school, believe it or not, we drew names of who’d give the toast at each other’s weddings,” he said wryly. “And I picked Cole.”
I laughed. “You guys are so funny. And I have one hundred percent faith in you. You’ll find the right words.”
“I hope so. Right now, all I have are crumpled up pieces of paper with terrible baseball metaphors. And they deserve better. His fiancée is Griffin’s sister, Cheyenne—she’s a kindergarten teacher at the elementary school.” He paused, and spoke quieter. “I don’t know if you heard, but Cole lost his first wife, Trisha, to a blood clot when she had their daughter, Mariah. She’s nine now.”
“Oh, how awful.” My heart ached for the teenage sweethearts I remembered from high school. “So Cole’s been a single dad all this time?”
Beckett nodded. “He and Mariah lived with his mom until recently. They just bought a big old house by the creek earlier this year. Their wedding is going to be in their backyard.”
I sighed. “I love that. I’m happy for him.”
“Me too.” He took a drink and set the bottle down again. “Cheyenne had always been crazy about him. Finally, he noticed. The rest of us saw it a long time ago.”
“Sometimes it takes people a while to see what’s right in front of them,” I said.
Beckett looked at me for a moment and picked up his beer.
After dinner, Beckett went to help his father get ready for bed. After sticking Elliott in the shower, I did the dishes and cleaned up. By the time Beckett returned to the kitchen, I was wiping down the stone counters.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” he said. “You’re a—”
“Hush, cowboy.” I gave him the stink eye and put up my dukes. “Don’t make me get feisty with you.”
Laughing, he held up his palms in surrender. “Where’s Elliott?”
“I put him in the shower and said he could have some iPad time if he was quick about it.”
“Want another beer?” he asked, going to the fridge and grabbing one for himself.
I hesitated, wiping my hands on a dishtowel.
“Come on, it’s Friday night,” he cajoled, popping off the cap.
As he took a sip from his beer, I found myself staring at his mouth, thinking about that kiss again, wondering how a moment from so long ago could seem so vivid.
Flustered, I averted my eyes. “Okay. But let me get Elliott in bed and take a quick shower.”
“No rush.”
Upstairs, I checked on Elliott—he was already in his unicorn pajamas, playing a game on his iPad in one of the top bunks—and jumped in the shower.
After drying off with a thick, fluffy towel, I put on denim shorts and a plain white tank, throwing a soft blue cardigan over my shoulders. Deciding against blow-drying my hair since it would take too much time, I combed it out and left it damp and hanging around my shoulders. It’s not like this was a date.
Even though I shaved my legs. And rubbed lotion into my skin. And took my birth control pill three hours ahead of schedule.
But I couldn’t help it. How long had it been since I’d wanted to feel pretty for someone? I was considering putting on a little makeup when I caught my reflection in the mirror.
Stop it, I scolded myself. You are going downstairs to have a beer and catch up a little. Just because you always had a secret crush on him doesn’t mean you need to gloss up your lips and lashes at this late date. Those butterflies in your stomach are ridiculous.