Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Better each day.” He adjusted himself until he was comfortable, allowing Lindsey to drape the protective gown around him. “That first day was hard. And Tuesday was hard. Today wasn’t so bad.”
“I’m glad.” I smiled.
Lindsey looked conflicted. She wanted to get started on Lincoln’s haircut with the ultimate goal of getting home to see her family. But she couldn’t get in the way of our conversation. I took pity on her and ended the encounter.
“It was really nice to see you,” I said.
“You as well,” he replied.
I backed away toward the door, not wanting to break eye contact until I accidentally bumped into the magazine table. Feeling like a fool, I cursed under my breath. He laughed and I blushed before turning and hurrying away.
Smooth, Aly. Real smooth.
9
LINCOLN
Seeing Aly at the salon had been a bonus. I was starting to get the idea that she might not be out of my league. She was clearly interested. Her lack of grace had told me that much.
My next step would be to ask her out on a formal date. Monday, I would find a reason to go to the main house. Hell, I didn’t need a reason if I was there to ask her on a date. I would stop by over my lunch break and ask if she wanted to grab a burger. Not having a car was definitely a handicap. I decided to use some of my savings to buy a cheap ride. Afterward, I could continue to save up money to leave town.
I got my regular hair back. Just like sleeping with my boots on, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for a civilian haircut.
I took an Uber home and lay down on the couch. It was Friday night, so I grabbed myself a beer. I didn’t want to drink too much because I was worried about it becoming a crutch. My mom had been an addict, and my older brother, George, had followed in her footsteps. Gina seemed to have escaped, and Dad never touched the stuff. I had to admit that I probably had addictive tendencies, so I kept my drinking to a minimum.
I had purchased a six pack of expensive, dark beer and so far, I had drank two bottles. It was an indulgence that I couldn’t have gotten in the desert or in the hospital. It tasted so good, I immediately wanted another, but I cut myself off. Two was more than enough.
Around midnight, I decided to go for another walk. The last few times I had been out at night had been successful. The calm of Singer’s Ridge was soothing to my soul. There weren’t any Army tents or flashes of red on the horizon. There weren’t people running around, shouting orders. There wasn’t any death or destruction, only quiet houses full of sleeping townsfolk.
I felt like I was the only one awake, except for the occasional pickup full of drunk teenagers. I was allowed to explore the neighborhoods, staring up at some of the richer houses in awe. Singer’s Ridge had really come up in the time I had been gone. There were three-story homes with manicured lawns and two-car garages. I wondered where people found the money for those mini mansions. Maybe they were commuting to Nashville. I knew there wasn’t enough work in town to support that kind of lifestyle.
That night, my wanderings took me to the park behind the high school. It was about a mile’s walk from my basement apartment, a testament to the strength that had returned to my leg. I had brought my cane, just in case the path took me farther than I was prepared to go.
When we had been kids, people used to sneak into the park to make out, to cut class, or to drink. There was a tiny trail that led through a break in the fence and into the bushes at the edge of the park. Once you maneuvered the path successfully, you were rewarded with a leisurely jogging path, a playground, and a series of strategically placed benches. When the dogwoods were in bloom, pink petals dripped from the canopy of trees, making the walk romantic. It wasn’t the right time of year for that, and despite the floodlights, it was still hard to make out color in the middle of the night.
As I was walking, I caught sight of a figure up ahead. This person was alone and in no hurry. The short stature and soft movements told me it was a woman, unafraid to be caught without an escort. I marveled at her bravery and then stopped myself. This wasn’t Afghanistan. It was Singer’s Ridge. It was perfectly safe for a woman, for anyone, to walk alone at night.
Not wanting to startle her, I kept my distance, moving to the outer edge of the track to pass her. When I got close enough, familiar features solidified. The hair that cascaded gently past her shoulders appeared black in the lamplight, but I recognized it even so.