Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“I love that you’ve put a positive spin on things, like this kitten and your housing situation. In your shoes, I think I’d have trouble not resenting Lola’s grandparents for attaching conditions to the help they’re giving you—a grown man.”
“What’s the positive spin?”
“This. Sneaking around like teenagers past curfew.”
Ozzy’s grin has its own personality. It’s like there’s Ozzy, then there’s his grin. And I’m starting to read the subtleties of how he bends those full lips.
Flirty.
Innocent.
Sad.
Mischievous.
Vulnerable.
And my favorite—the sexy grin. This one starts with his teeth pressed to his lower lip, then he wets it, and finally, it curls into something that makes my insides melt.
It’s that slow dance.
“Lola is the positive spin on my life. And tonight, I’m beginning to feel a little dizzy from the spin you’re putting on my life too.”
I hum, just short of closing my eyes. Everything feels good when I’m with Ozzy. “Tell me about Brynn.”
With a hint of confusion pulling at his brow, he fiddles with the white paper under the remaining nachos. “You want me to talk about my wife on our date?”
“Yes. But only if you’re comfortable with it.”
“Why?”
“Because you created another life with her. And I think the most beautiful thing about a man is how he loves a woman. I’m giving you a chance to shine after ghosting me.”
Ozzy runs a hand through his hair while pulling in a long breath. He tells me how he met his wife at a concert in California, where she lost her wallet.
Love never dies. I see it in his eyes, the glimmer of memories.
“Brynn was older than me. She had two years left of her PhD, and I was working in Arizona. We didn’t set out to have a long-distance relationship, but that’s where it led, and somehow it worked. Over those two years, I made a dozen trips to California to visit her. We talked on the phone daily, and by the time she donned her cap and gown, I had a ring in my pocket.”
With a faraway look in his eyes and a pleasant smile, he continues, “She was so smart, an expert in linguistics. And I was a grease monkey with jumbled thoughts and mumbled words. She was delicate and refined; I was an ox with stained fingernails. But I loved everything about her that was nothing like me, and I think that’s what she liked about me too. When we had Lola, it all made sense. Everything we did together was better. You know—the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. That was us.”
I smile when that faraway expression subsides, and he’s back with me. “How did you end up in Missoula?”
“We’d been living in California. Lola was seven. My parents lived here, and hers lived in Yellowstone, where they owned a ranch. There was a position available at UM, and I knew there was a chance I could eventually get a job here. I sent an application to Cielo and stayed home with Lola for that first year. A job opened up. Things were looking good for us. Lola liked her school. My parents loved having us in Missoula, and we were closer to Brynn’s family. Then . . .” Ozzy frowns, gaze cast at the empty beer mug before him.
He doesn’t have to finish. I don’t need to know the details of the accident or what came next. I’ve pieced those together pretty well.
“See.” I nudge his leg, prompting him to look at me. “You’re even better than I thought. Your wife was a smart woman with a PhD, and I do not doubt that the smartest thing she did was marry you.”
With his head cocked, he studies me. “Why are you trying to seduce a guy who rides a bike everywhere?”
I laugh. “If you must know, in my dating ‘fish stories,’ I’ll refer to you as a biker.”
“You’ll tell people I have something bigger between my legs than what’s there?” He smirks.
Covering my mouth, I snort. “Stop.” I shake my head and drop my hand.
“Come on,” he says, sliding out of the booth.
“Where are we going?” I follow him, threading my arms into my jacket while he holds my bouquet and the note.
“Let’s take a walk.”
“At this time of night?”
“I’ll protect you.” He holds open the door for me.
We worm through the parking lot to the sidewalk and gaze at the path in front of us.
“I’m sure you get asked this all the time, but what got you into this profession? Were you in the military?” he asks.
“No. I was a crop duster. I had my pilot’s license by the time I turned seventeen, and I was spraying fields the summer after I graduated high school. Fast-forward eight years, and I was flying tanker planes for Cielo. I’ve never wanted to do anything but fly planes. I’ve been fighting fires for seven years. Four years in the right seat and the past three years on my own.”