Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
And Denver. Unlike Wren’s dubious experiments, Denver’s innovation of the Hawaiian omelet had been delicious. The dish had been the perfect pairing of spicy sauce, creamy cheese, soft eggs, salty ham, and just enough pineapple to keep it interesting. He’d made it especially for me, riffing on my love of pineapple on pizza. Sweet-but-spicy was apparently my jam in men as well as food because I’d loved Denver’s filthy mouth, demanding hands, and kind eyes.
I couldn’t fully get the man off my mind, even as I prepared a mountain of pancakes and bacon for the kids. A bleary-eyed Rowan with messy hair wandered into the kitchen in time to grab a plate, and Eric followed him down the back stairs a short time later.
“Pancakes? And bacon?” Eric managed a small smile at the platters of food I’d arranged on the now-sparkling kitchen island, along with clean containers of syrup and butter. He plucked up one of the last pieces of bacon and bit it in half. “Thought you’d be sacked out by now.”
“Nah.” I stretched my neck from side to side, trying to look less tired. Twenty-odd hours of alertness was starting to take its toll, but no way was I complaining around Eric. “And the kids helped.”
“Well, actually,” Wren started at the same time that John said, “Wren—”
I shot both of them a warning look, which made John quickly add, “The bacon was Wren’s idea.”
“Good idea, bug.” Eric ruffled Wren’s wild hair before peering out the kitchen window. “Hey, where’s your truck?”
Eric might be grieving, but he was as observant as ever. I plastered on my best easy smile, keeping my tone casual. “Long story, but I locked my keys in the truck while parked at Honey’s Hotcake Hut. Any chance you could give me a ride back?”
“Sure.” Eric glanced down at his baggy workout pants and yellow T-shirt. “Guess I’m presentable enough. Let’s do it now, get the errand over with.”
“I could take him,” John piped up, returning to the kitchen for seconds.
“You could not.” Eric’s stern dad voice was as good as mine, if not better. John had had his permit for a while now, but Eric seemed unusually reluctant to meet John’s eager demands for driving practice.
“We need to get you more practice hours before your test.” I aimed for a peace-making tone, but John continued to huff as he loaded more pancakes onto his plate.
“Do any of you know the statistics on teen drivers?” Not at all helpful, Wren looked all-too-ready to launch into gory detail.
“We do,” Eric said grimly, resignation clear from the slump in his shoulders and the set of his chin. “I’ll take you out later, John, promise.”
“I can take him out practicing too. If you’re not—”
“I’m fine.” Eric poured himself a travel mug of black coffee from the pot I’d made while juggling pancakes. I didn’t want to contradict him in front of the kids, so I waited until we were walking out to Eric’s SUV to pick the conversation back up.
“Let me help more with the kids,” I said as Eric unlocked the large SUV. He also had Montgomery’s smaller compact parked near the detached carriage house garage, as well as an older truck. I pointed over at both vehicles. “I’m happy to take John out driving later in one of the older cars after I get some sleep.”
“I should do it.” Eric cast a guilty look in the direction of Montgomery’s car. Ah. That was undoubtedly part of the issue. “I haven’t spent enough time with him. He’s had the permit for months now.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. You’re doing the best you can.” I handed out advice I needed to take too. I’d been adrift for months now with the sale of the house, the sabbatical from work, the return to Mount Hope, and settling into my new roles at the fire station and in Eric’s house. The most alive and energized I’d felt had been in Denver’s shower. There, I’d had a clear purpose, directions to follow, and none of this second-guessing my every move. “We all are. You. The kids. Rest of us.”
“I guess.” Eric didn’t sound any more sure than I was about how well either of us was coping. As he pulled out of the driveway onto Prospect Place, he gave me a quick glance. “How’d you get home anyway? Don’t tell me you walked. I would have come for you.”
“I know you would have.” I worried the inside of my cheek with my teeth, not sure how much of my morning to reveal. “I…uh…I caught a ride.”
“Ha.” Eric released a rusty laugh. “Bet the guys at the station had a field day drawing straws to see who got to come to your rescue.”
“God, no.” I shifted in the passenger seat. “The overnight cook at Honey’s. He lives on your street.”