Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“I think it was the perfect time,” she refutes with two hands to her hips. “After Dad died, Mom treated Grandma Rose like shit. For years. The last person she would’ve wanted at her funeral was Eleanor. You and I both know that. Not to mention all the other evil shit she’s done.”
The last person I want to continue to defend right now is our mother, but today, mentally, I am spent. I don’t know how to restructure a lifetime way of thinking and keep myself upright and uncrying. Everything inside me breaks, and my whole body hiccups with tears.
“Josie, I know we have a lot to talk through. I know there are a lot of unsaid things that need to be said and apologies to be made. But I’ve just had the worst week of my life, and I have nowhere else to go. Do you think you could find it in you to show me some temporary compassion and let me come inside?”
When she doesn’t respond or make any move to let me step into the cottage, I go for broke and use guilt as my tactic. “You know if Grandma Rose were still alive, she’d let me come in.”
“You play dirty,” Josie mutters on a sigh. She looks me up and down one more time, but ultimately, she steps out of the doorway and gestures for me to come inside. “Fine.”
Hallelujah! I’d do a tap dance on her front porch if I had the energy, but instead, I settle for, “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes. “You can stay here, but don’t think I’m agreeing to this being some kind of permanent roommate situation,” she adds over her shoulder as she heads down the main hallway that leads into the kitchen.
I step inside, dragging my now-dusty suitcase behind me, and follow her.
This isn’t exactly being welcomed with open arms, but it’s not being kicked out on the street either. Silver lining?
Bennett
I pull up to the alleyway behind The Country Club, and Clay is already standing there, waiting for me with a pissed-off scowl on his face.
I’m not surprised. He’s been expecting me to deliver the three kegs in the bed of my truck, and all thanks to a chatty woman named Norah, I’m over an hour late.
“Hi, honey,” I greet with a smirk as I shut the driver’s door. “I’m home.”
“What the hell, man?” He ignores my cheeky greeting and lays right into the nuts and bolts of his irritation. “What took you so long?”
“Relax.” I open the tailgate, and Clay helps me roll out the first keg from the bed. “I had to make a few pit stops.”
“Pit stops? You said you’d be here over an hour ago,” he complains, and we each take one end of the keg and start carrying it toward the back door of his bar.
“You do realize I’m here because I’m doing you a favor, right?” I toss back, but it doesn’t deter him.
“Where were you?”
“I had to make sure Josie Ellis’s sister made it to her house and get gas.” After kicking her ass out of the truck, I drove to the gas station and then back in the direction of her sister’s house. She may be a pain in the ass, but she’s also got the street instincts of an infant. I was worried if I wasn’t watching her, she’d end up getting herself killed by a real psycho.
“What did you just say?” He stops his momentum, which means I stop my momentum, and we’re just standing there in the middle of the alleyway behind his bar. “You were at Josie’s?”
“Not really.”
“Then why did you just say Josie’s house?”
“Her sister is in town and a complete fucking toddler. I was just making sure she didn’t get herself killed.”
“Her sister is in town, and she’s a toddler?” Clay lets go of the keg completely, and a grunt escapes my lungs as I muscle the extra weight. “How the hell do you know that? Why do you know that?”
“Well, technically, she’s not a toddler,” I say through another grunt because kegs are fucking heavy. “She’s a grown-ass woman with a penchant for terrible life choices.”
Clay makes no move to grab the keg again. Instead, he just stares me down.
I’ve known Clay Harris basically my whole life. We grew up together in New York, went to prep school and college together, and our families, especially our fathers, are thicker than thieves. Which is probably why we both hated them as kids.
When Clay was in his midtwenties and showing no real direction besides partying and enjoying living off his family’s money, his successful CEO of a father told him to shit out a career path or get off the pot. So, Clay took a long drive, found this small-ass town, and decided to open a bar. Though, he told his dear old dad he was opening a Country Club, and his father invested money, thinking his son was going to run a prestigious golf course for the rich and privileged of Vermont. To this day, he still doesn’t know the truth.