Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
But that doesn’t explain why these feelings are still dogging me.
“I like her,” Mom says. “Don’t you?”
I say nothing while words tumble in my mind, my muscles tense as sentences start and stop on my tongue. I roll my shoulders, trying to let go of…whatever this is. I think back to the times I’ve chatted with Aubrey over the years. To the hockey games where I’ve seen her and the family events we’ve attended—like Garrett’s Christmas party a few years ago, right before I met Eva. I swear there was a moment at that party, while Aubrey drank champagne and we cast guests we didn’t know as characters from Christmas movies—she’s the sassy town baker; he’s the hard-nosed lawyer with a secret heart of gold—when I thought about what-ifs.
Then I remembered it’s a bad idea to crush on a friend’s sister. Garrett’s not the “don’t touch my sister” kind of guy, and I’m not the kind of guy a dude needs to keep away from his family.
But I do like things to work out. I like life to go smoothly. I want parents who get along, a career that fulfills me, a body that performs at the highest level. What if I messed around with Garrett’s sister and it didn’t work out? Would she think I was a prick? I don’t like rocking the boat. It might rock back. It probably would rock back.
Still, I should have objected to the wedding the night before the ceremony.
Better to speak up now even if these feelings go nowhere. “You know what?”
Mom freezes, mug halfway to her lips, eyes alert. “What is it?”
“I think you’re right. I do have a thing for Aubrey, and that thing grew a little stronger after spending the whole day with her yesterday.”
She struggles to hold back her smile but fails. Instead, she tries to hide it behind her mug, taking a sip of tea then setting it down. “And?” she asks.
I shrug. “Doesn’t really matter if I have a thing for her. Now’s just not the right time.”
Holy shit. I don’t struggle over the words, and I don’t feel as tangled up as I did at the bar. Clearly, I needed to get that admission off my chest. Now I can just move forward with the trip, leaving these feelings behind.
“Things don’t always happen at the right time,” Mom says with a wisdom I’ll never possess. “And yet they can still work out.”
“Romance has a way of not working out in my life lately,” I say. “Do I need to remind you about last Christmas?”
I legit thought I’d propose to Eva on Christmas. Instead, she surprised the hell out of me by breaking it off after we went ring shopping. Said I was too focused on my other love—hockey.
Well, hockey doesn’t break my heart, so it’s good that I’m not going to do a damn thing about this attraction.
Mom takes a drink of her tea, giving me a thoughtful look. “But that’s always how it goes, sweetheart. It doesn’t work out until it works out,” she says.
Suddenly, her TV unfreezes and an upbeat feminine voice booms from the TV. “Are you ready for a morning Badass Yoga workout?”
I turn toward the big screen. Mom scurries across the room to grab her remote, the little dogs following at her feet like rats after the pied piper. The freckled blonde on the screen gives a confident, California-girl smile and says, “That’s what I thought.”
“You take Briar’s classes,” I point out. “That’s cool…”
Mom hits pause and whispers conspiratorially. “She’s so…motivating.”
“She was great when she worked with us.” The team hired her to teach some yoga classes last season. She was funny and calm at the same time while giving personalized tips for each athlete who needed them.
“I have a girl crush. Don’t tell your father,” my mom says, finger over her lips.
“I’ll keep your secret.”
“And I’ll keep yours about your crush on Garrett’s sister.”
I shake my head at the Chihuahuas at my feet. “Why is she like this?”
But Lulu and Virgil don’t have an answer.
12
HONEYMOON PRESENT
Aubrey
“I’m fine. I swear,” I tell my mother for the ten millionth time. It’s Sunday, a few hours before I’m due at the airfield.
Airfield! I’m still pinching myself.
“Are you sure?” My mom wrings her hands. Her kitchen table teems with boxes wrapped in silver and white foil, satiny ribbons curling over the sides. A pile of pristine envelopes sits next to the boxes. I suspect those envelopes hold gift cards and best wishes.
The sight of them brings a fresh wave of guilt. I hate that I inconvenienced so many people, but Mom is diligent. She’ll make sure everyone gets their money and gifts back.
For now, I dry her dishes as I keep reassuring her, just as I’ve been doing since I arrived.
“I promise,” I say. This is familiar choreography.