Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Harlan furrowed his brow, confused. “What? You don’t like the idea of having the pick of dating any woman you want, because you’re about to be on a hit home renovation TV show?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. The glow of the TV flickered in front of us, but neither of us were paying attention now.
“I just don’t like thinking about another area of my life where I haven’t been able to succeed,” I said finally.
His frown deepened. “I’m going to punch you.”
“No you’re not.”
“I’ve told you before, I don’t give a fuck what your parents or siblings think, you are successful.”
“I don’t know about that, but thank you.” I met his gaze again. “What? Quit looking at me like you’re going to punch me in the face.”
“I really might sock you in the jaw if you keep thinking for a second that you’ve ever done anything wrong in how you choose to live your life. So what if your family expected a doctor and they got a farmer? You’re amazing, and that’s the end of it.”
I snorted a laugh. “Only you could bully me into loving myself more, Harlan.”
“I’d take you out back and have a full-on fight if that’s what it took,” he said. “You’re the best person I’ve ever known, and you don’t have to be a doctor or a lawyer or married to a doctor or lawyer for that to be true.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure as shit not going to be married anytime soon.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t be so sure. You really are going to get a lot of attention on TV. Lot of eyes are going to be on that pretty face of yours.”
“Shucks, you think I’m pretty?” He was glaring at me again. “I’d rather hang out with you than go on random dates, anyway,” I continued. “I’d rather watch paint dry with you than go on some thrill-ride roller coaster of a date with anyone else.”
That earned a genuine, deep laugh from him. “Remember that time we actually did watch paint dry together?”
“Holy shit,” I said. “I didn’t remember, because my memory is about as structurally sound as a soap bubble. But I think know what you’re talking about now.”
“That was a fun morning.”
“God, we were babies back then. What were we, twenty-two?”
“Just about,” Harlan said. “Couldn’t go out on the field because it was too muddy that week.”
“So Jeff had us repaint the community shop.”
Memory returned to me in a flash. It had been a rainy week in spring, and after coating the farm’s community store in a fresh coat of paint, Harlan and I sat outside on the little covered front porch in rocking chairs, listening to oldies radio and shooting the shit. Getting to know each other.
“We talked like old friends even when we barely knew each other yet,” Harlan said.
I shifted on the couch, getting comfortable and lying down. I put my head beside him on the couch, then got in closer, resting my head on his lap.
I let out a satisfied sigh. “This is the kind of thing I’m talking about,” I murmured. “I just like doing this with you. Remind me again why we don’t just marry each other?”
He was silent for a moment. I craned my neck backward in his lap, looking up at him.
“You say weird shit when you’re drunk,” he mumbled, looking back at the TV screen.
He seemed mad, almost, but I couldn’t tell why. For our whole friendship, he’d been openly gay and I’d been straight, and people had occasionally made little jokes about us ending up together. But Harlan had never seemed particularly upset by it.
But Harlan always had the memory of his last serious boyfriend, Thomas, somewhere inside him. They hadn’t been married, but it had seemed like it may have had the potential to lead there. I’d helped Harlan through the hardest thing he’d ever had to face when Thomas had died.
That had been eight years ago, but now I was starting to worry that my attempt at a lighthearted joke about marriage had reminded him of that time.
I turned, still resting my head on his lap but fully facing him now. “Hey. You okay?”
“All good.”
“You don’t seem all good. Is it… are you thinking about Thomas?”
Harlan’s face changed, from an expression of confusion to some sort of relief. “No,” he said. “Nothing like that.”
I nodded. “Then is there something else going on?”
He set his jaw, pulling in a deep breath. “Just wish you knew how much of a catch you are,” he said, his expression stony. “Acting like you’re never going to find someone, joking about just marrying me. I’m sure you will find a woman who is everything you want, Sawyer. Just give it time.”
We lapsed into a comfortable silence again, but my mind was chewing on everything Harlan had said.