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)
“Well, someone had to keep you out of trouble,” Amy teased. “Make sure you learned your ABCs and ate your spinach.”
“Spinach.” I made a face.
“Come on, you needed it. You were such a scrawny kid, now look at those Popeye biceps!” She came over and squeezed my upper arm. “They’re practically busting out of your sleeves!”
“Knock it off.” I pushed her hand away and checked my phone. “I gotta get Dad out of the shower or he’ll be in there forever.”
“He likes the shower that much?”
“No, he just forgets he soaped up already and does everything all over again,” I said, heading out of the kitchen. “He can remember every detail of that damn Willie Mays catch from 1954, but he can’t remember if he washed his armpits five minutes ago.”
She laughed. “You’re a good man, Beckett Weaver.”
After rapping my knuckles on my dad’s bathroom door a few times and hearing the water go off, I headed back through the kitchen into the mudroom.
“He’s getting dressed now,” I told my sister. “His haircut is at eleven, he’ll need lunch right after that, and then a nap around one.”
She tightened her ponytail. “We’ll probably have lunch in town. Can I bring you anything?”
“Nah.” I sat down on the mudroom bench and tugged on my boots.
“I’m good here until about two. Does that give you enough time?”
“Yeah. Maddie Blake is supposed to arrive around three, and I’ll need to clean up first.”
“Oooh.” Her tone took on a mischievous lilt. “Maddie Blake.”
I looked up from lacing my boots. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged, all big eyes and innocence. “Nothing at all. I mean, so what if the girl you had a giant crush on in high school is moving in with you? Happens all the time.”
“Jesus Christ, Amy. We were just friends. She lived across the street. We did homework together. She had a boyfriend.” As I ticked off the list of reasons why Maddie Blake and I had never gotten together, my tone grew more defensive. “Now she’s a single mom who just went through a divorce.”
“Relax,” she said soothingly. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just saying it was obvious you liked her.”
“And she’s not moving in with me.” I stood up, glad for my six-foot-four inches of height and broad chest. “She and her son are staying here temporarily while she fixes up her mother’s old house and gets it ready for sale.”
Amy wrinkled her nose. “Good luck getting much for that place. The roof looks like it’s about to cave in.”
“Exactly why I told her she should stay here. Moretti’s gonna meet us over there later today and give us an estimate on what it’ll take to renovate.”
“Us?” Her eyes twinkled again.
“Her.”
“You said us.”
I stared her down. “I meant her.”
My sister’s mouth tipped up on one side. “You still have a cru-ush,” she sing-songed.
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my hat from the rack and clapped it on my head.
“If she’s still cute, you should take her out on a date while she’s here.” My sister followed me as I went outside.
“Why?”
“Because it’s something that adult humans do for fun.”
I kept walking. “I don’t have time for fun.”
“You know, just because you traded your suit and tie for jeans and boots doesn’t make you any less of a workaholic!” she shouted as I headed for the barn. “You need a personal life, Beckett! You need some excitement!”
“I’ve got excitement.” Deflecting from the topic of my personal life, I turned around and walked backward a few steps, arms wide. “Hell, my dad plays centerfield for the Tigers, and just yesterday, he told me if I have a good season, he can probably get me on the team!”
“A good season at what,” she teased, “old man baseball?”
I stopped moving and pointed a finger at her. “Hey, you’re talking to the biggest hitter on the Bellamy Creek Bulldogs, the four-time champions of the Allegan County Senior Men’s Baseball League. A little respect, please!”
Laughing, she put her hand on her chest and bowed down.
As she fucking should.
Grinning, I turned around and resumed striding toward the barn. It was kind of funny that my three best friends and I had ended up playing those Thursday night games we used to make fun of, complete with stiff knees and aching shoulders. Luckily, we were all in good shape—no beer bellies yet—although there was no denying we’d aged a bit.
But Griffin was still a force at first base, Cole remained our star pitcher, Moretti was still the fastest runner, and I was still good behind the plate and reliably hit the most home runs each season. We weren’t eighteen anymore, but we felt like it again when we were on the field. And best of all, our friendship was still solid.
In the barn I saddled up my horse, Pudge—named for legendary Detroit Tigers catcher Ivan “Pudge” Rodriguez—and rode out to rotate our herd of Highland Cattle from one paddock to another, which had to be done almost every single day from late spring through December.