Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Grief flickers on his face. “I am now. I wish I could say it’s always been that way. After my dad died three years back, I don’t know. It just seems like I shouldn’t spend all this time annoyed with her. I mean, what’s it matter if she wants to stuff the window boxes with a ridiculous winter plant? I figure if it makes her happy, it’s making him happy.”
“I’m sorry you lost him,” I offer.
“He was one of a kind.” Brock shakes his head like he’s leaving thoughts of the past behind and says, “Now, let me show you the inside of the place.”
As he sets Woofer down to explore, he explains, “It’s two stories. Three bedrooms. About a thousand square feet.”
His cabin is tiny but cozy. I take off my shoes before stepping onto the tan living room carpet. A corduroy couch with throw pillows and a matching throw blanket faces a flat screen TV.
In front of the couch is a leather ottoman with a reading tablet and a couple of magazines for law enforcement officers on top of it. A nearby armchair faces the window, showcasing the snow that’s starting to come down even faster.
On the other side of the couch is a round dining table with four Windsor chairs. A wooden clock made to look like a black bear counts the minutes, the soft ticking matching in time with the hum of the heater.
I turn to Brock, noting his anxious expression. For some reason, it’s important to him that I like his home. But I can’t resist teasing him. “You have a big problem.”
“What’s that?” The glint in his eye tells me he’s caught on to the fact that I’m only playing with him.
“There’s no place for your dozen children.”
“So you’ve relented on the nine. That’s great news.” He gives me a grin and gestures for me to follow him to his kitchen. He pulls his phone from his back pocket and puts it on the counter.
“No, I’m saying we might have to meet in the middle of nine at three,” I argue. His kitchen is also tiny but the white cabinets, chrome appliances, and light tile make it feel bigger than it truly is.
“Or we just raise them in batches of three,” he argues as he opens the cabinets. He scans the contents, looking for something.
“You want a new litter every eighteen years?” I laugh. I’ve noticed that I do that a lot when I’m around Brock. He makes everything feel fun and light and easy. It’s so nice to be with a guy that I feel like I can be myself around.
“Why not? By the time we get to the third group, we’ll be old pros at it.” He checks the fridge next before turning to me. “How do you feel about cheesy lasagna?”
“I love cheesy lasagna,” I tell him as his phone rings. I glance at it when I hear the sound and see the name Amanda flash across the screen. He hasn’t mentioned anyone by that name at work. Is that another woman he’s seeing? Am I being played again?
9
ZOEY
Brock scowls when he sees Amanda’s name, but he doesn’t reach to answer his phone. He hits ignore on the call and goes back to pulling ingredients for lasagna from his cabinets.
He pauses when he sees my expression and gestures toward the phone. “She’s an ex-girlfriend that can’t get the memo. I’d change my number but in a small town, it’s only a matter of time before she gets it again.”
I nod and force a smile I don’t feel. I’m not sure if what he’s telling me is true. Colin told me there was nothing between him and my sister. But then, Brock isn’t Colin and it’s not fair to bring him into this. Not when I haven’t had a reason to doubt him. “What can I do to help with dinner?”
While we prepare the food, Brock tells me about what it was like to grow up in South Tahoe, how much he loved his parents, and his decision to move to a bigger city after he finished at the academy.
“My folks were proud of me and really supportive. The last year of his life, Dad would call me every week and ask me when I was moving back to take over. It was his dream to see it passed down to me.”
“That’s how you came to be here?” I ask as I sprinkle cheese on top of the noodles and sauce in the glass baking dish. “He handed the torch to you?”
“Not exactly.” He blows out a breath, his shoulders slumping. “I kept putting him off. I was too important, too busy. The big city needed me. A bunch of cocky bullshit then he had a heart attack while on duty one day. Next thing I know, I’m on a plane home. Didn’t even make it back in time to say goodbye.”