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)
The hardwood is warm on my bare feet. An earthiness unique to this place—mud mixed with tobacco and kissed by the sun—greets me like an old friend. I shut the door behind me and venture into Luke’s house.
A bigger television hangs on the wall. The refrigerator has been replaced. A few more pictures have been added to the collection of family photos on the unused dining room table. Not much has changed in the six years since I was here. Yet …
Every move I make is like a pin dropping to the floor. It’s as if the house is holding its breath like me. Somehow, it feels like I just came in after a shift at The Scoop to do homework with Luke.
My dress swishes against the floor as I cross the kitchen to inspect the photographs.
So many framed memories have been here for years—pictures of Poppy and Luke’s grandma and Luke’s parents. There are photos of Luke and his siblings. My favorite one is in the center of the table, and I pick it up.
Luke gives the camera the cheesiest grin. To his right are his oldest brothers, Chase and Mallet. On his left is his little sister, Kate. Crouched in front of them, as if he might attack the person taking the shot, is their brother Gavin. God, I love these people.
It’s hard to breathe as I gaze at the faces I haven’t seen in a long time—faces of some of the best, most hardworking, salt-of-the-earth people I’ve ever met. They loved me like their own. I loved them right back. Until everything fell apart …
I wipe away the tears rolling down my cheeks and set the picture back in its place.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, looking around the house. “What am I doing?”
Panic surges, using the crack in my willpower to make itself known. My stomach clenches like I might puke. Fight-or-flight instincts kick in. My brain screams at my legs to move, to walk—to leave before I make a mess of things, but my heart whispers no.
There’s nowhere else to go, anyway.
I’m royally screwed.
I sit on the brown plaid couch. The springs bite through all the fabric attached to my butt and bite into my bones. At least I can feel it. At least I’m not that numb.
Gravel popping under the weight of a vehicle rings through the silence. I bolt upright, unsure whether to run out the back door or sit still and take whatever comes my way. For the briefest of seconds, I regret asking Troy to leave.
A door shuts. Boots climb the stairs. The handle turns, the hinges creaking.
I grab the edge of the couch, holding my breath and waiting for my eyes to meet Luke Marshall’s.
When he enters, his head is down. He shuts the door with his foot. With his phone in his hand, he lifts his face and stops mid-step.
The phone clatters to the floor.
I gasp as our gazes collide, and the world outside this room ceases to exist. The collision takes my breath as heat sizzles through my body, snaking down my spine in a slow, torturous curl.
I struggle to catch my breath amid the butterflies sweeping through my stomach.
Oh, my …
Luke Marshall is all grown up.
Age has done fine things to this man, filling him out in all the right places—broad shoulders and a barrel chest. A belt shows off his trim waist. Angled jaw. Long lashes. He wears a day’s scruff that makes me shiver.
No amount of social media stalking could’ve prepared me for this moment.
He tilts his head in surprise, then in confusion.
A sardonic smile parts his kissable lips. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter Three
Laina
His voice—playful and rich with a hint of mischief—sweeps across the room. It’s as if a fuse is extinguished, and my world has stopped careening toward the edge of a cliff. I breathe freely for the first time in days.
“Hey, Luke,” I say.
He scratches the top of his head, then runs his palm down the side of his cheek. His mouth opens, and he takes a breath like he’s going to speak. Instead, he chuckles.
Relief rolls off me in waves.
“Aren’t you supposed to be getting married today?” he asks, a teasing quirk at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m not sure what would give you that impression.”
He lifts a brow, keeping an eye on me while he picks his phone off the floor. “I don’t know. Could be the wedding dress. Might be your pictures and the word wedding splashed all over the news. Then again, it could be all the assholes in fancy suits sitting around The Wet Whistle talking about the economy and not even having the courtesy to laugh at Tucker’s jokes.” He tosses the phone on the table beneath the television. “You choose.”
“I’ll go with the assholes in fancy suits. But I didn’t invite them. They are here by invitation from the groom.”