Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 60342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Bastard.
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll ask. Do you use dating sites?”
His laughter is rich and warm. I could listen to it forever.
“What does it matter to you?” he asks.
“I’m just curious.”
“Are you going to make a profile and stalk me there, too?”
I gasp. “I don’t stalk you online. I just watch some of your videos.”
He hums.
I hum right back.
“No, I don’t use dating sites,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I tried them once, and I saw enough weird shit the first weekend that I deleted it. People are fucked up.”
“You should see some of the letters and gifts people send me. I had a guy send me ten used condoms once in the mail.”
Luke’s eyes widen. “That’s gross.”
“I know. Another guy sent me a tooth. I’ve had fingernail clippings, voodoo dolls, and someone sent me a live baby scorpion.”
He sets the other half of his bread down. “You don’t open that shit, do you?”
“No. It all goes to a post office box, and someone on my team opens it all. We’re really careful about it.”
He shakes his head like he can’t believe it.
“I got my luggage and phone today,” I say.
“How’d that go down?”
“Gavin met Stephanie on a random street in Brickfield. She basically threw it in his trunk and jetted away. Then Gavin brought it to me after stopping at the gas station, The Wet Whistle, and Chase’s to make sure he wasn’t being followed.”
He nods like he’s not surprised, which surprises me. But I don’t say anything. I don’t want him to think I’m overthinking things.
I scoop up a forkful of spaghetti. “I had the best day being here all alone. I can’t think of the last time I was truly alone.”
“Really?”
“I’ve been alone at home before, but that’s semantics. Cameras monitor all the exits, and men patrol the grounds at all hours. Since people can look up my addresses online, they do. Those situations can get hairy.”
The lines around Luke’s eyes wrinkle.
“What about you?” I ask. “How was your day? What happened in the horseshoeing business?”
Luke takes a drink of tea. But before he can answer, his phone rings.
“Fuck. I should’ve turned this off before we sat down,” he says, looking at the screen. “It’s Mom. I’ll call her back.”
“No, answer it.”
He looks up, surprised.
“Answer it,” I say, nodding my insistence. “Always talk to your mom if she wants to talk to you.”
A slow smile slips across his lips as he turns on the speakerphone. “Hi, Momma.”
“Where have you been?” Maggie Marshall asks her son. “I waited for you all day to come and get some beans and cornbread.”
He winks at me. “Mrs. Marshall, I don’t like your tone.”
“Lucas Marshall, I’ll kick your behind if you call me that again.”
Luke laughs. “Settle down. I’m only kidding.”
I sit back and listen to them chatter back and forth.
The Marshalls have always shared a close bond. Maggie and Lonnie, Luke’s parents, always ensured a strong connection between their children—and it stuck. I always loved going to their house. As soon as you walk in, you’re surrounded by an indescribable goodness. They fill your stomach with food, your heart with laughter, and your soul with love. You can’t walk away from the Marshalls and not leave feeling better than you did when you arrived.
Strangely enough, that was one of the things I missed about home when I moved to Nashville. Not my own childhood home or walking into my mother’s kitchen. It was walking into the Marshall world where people connected. People cared. It’s where people simply love on you because they know you well and love you unconditionally.
“Next week, I promise you I’ll be at church,” Luke says, rolling his eyes at me.
I smile at him.
“You better be,” Maggie says. “You’ve missed three weeks in a row. One more week, and it’ll constitute a habit. It’s been a long while since I showed up at your house and honked my horn until you came out for church, but I’ll do it again.”
“What has gotten into you?” Luke asks, laughing. “Did you get into the communion wine again?”
I snort, holding a hand over my mouth so Maggie doesn’t hear me.
“Lucas.” She sighs heavily. “I need to go. You’re turning me gray.”
“Why do I get blamed for everything? It’s always me. Never Chase, the one who gets in tall buckets and plays with electricity all day. It’s never Gavin, the bartender. You never blame Mallet, and he gets paid to punch people. And God knows it’s not Kate.”
“Be good. I love you, Luke.”
“Love you, Momma.”
“Say your prayers.”
“I will. Good night.”
“Good night, baby boy.”
I wait until Luke ends the call to speak.
“Aw, Luke. That was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He takes a bite of his spaghetti. “What part? The one where she said I’m turning her gray or the part where she called me her baby boy?” He shakes his head. “She’s confused, I think. She doesn’t make sense.”