Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“Mom, please. Please. Pleeeeeeease!”
Thankfully my son couldn’t see me, because I rolled my eyes so hard it probably would have registered on the Richter scale.
Yes, this was a gross overstep on Jeff’s part, but, after all the shit he’d pulled, a father-son trip to a baseball game was the least of my worries.
“Just let me think about it, okay? Maybe I can talk to Dad about trading days with me or something.” Right after I wasted my breath talking to him about boundaries and respect.
“Woooohooo!” he shouted.
“Don’t start celebrating yet. I did not say yes.”
“But you will, ’cause you’re the best mom in the whole wide world.”
“Okay, now you’re just sucking up.”
“Maybe.” He laughed wildly and it filled my chest with happiness. Little moments like that were what kept me going—no matter how hard things got.
“All right, buddy. I have to get back to painting. I’ll see you on Friday, okay?”
“Okay. I love you. Infinity times infinity.”
My grin stretched. “Oof, that’s a lot. But I still love you more. Infinity times infinity times infinity.”
I waited, knowing exactly what was coming. I’d laughed so hard the first time he did it it’d cemented itself as part of our routine.
He rushed out with a giggled, “Plus one. I win.” Then he hung up without so much as a goodbye.
Grinning like a fool, I put the empty primer can down and slid my phone into the pocket of my paint-stained yoga pants. I’d never been more eager to get back to work on The Rosewood.
Yes. It was finally The Rosewood.
In a miracle of all miracles, the contractor had fulfilled his promise and The Grille was officially gone.
The kitchen had been gutted.
Linoleum floors peeled up.
Wallpaper torn down.
Just my luck, we’d discovered water damage in the kitchen that had seeped into the dining room. Lucille had negotiated me a sweet discount, but I’d still had to dig even deeper into my shoestring budget to have some of the studs and sheetrock replaced.
And that wasn’t the only expense that had snuck up on me. The ventilation system needed a total overhaul to bring it up to code, and the walk-in cooler didn’t get cold enough to meet food safety standards.
How The Grille hadn’t been shut down at least a dozen times, I would never understand, but it was my pain-in-the-pocketbook now.
Despite the fact that I’d padded the budget for the unexpected, that pocketbook had emptied far more quickly than I’d prepared for. Unless I wanted to kick off entrepreneurship in a mountain of debt, I was going to have to use some good old-fashioned elbow grease and finish the renovation on my own.
Needless to say, there would be a lot of YouTube tutorials in my future.
Snagging the empty primer can, I walked to the parking lot to toss it into the dumpster. The company my contractor had rented it from was late hauling it away, so I was making the most of it.
“Shit!” I yelled as I turned the corner, slamming directly into Truett’s chest.
I hadn’t been positive he’d take me up on my invitation to come back. There was a part of me that hoped he wouldn’t. But I also knew a different part of me would have marched down there and dragged him out of that damn house by his ear if need be.
I ached knowing he’d locked himself away from the world. Solitude had always been his go-to coping mechanism, but all these years later? How was that even possible?
I’d spent a lot of time over the last week, revisiting the past, both consciously and in my dreams. Sometimes we were kids again, young and carefree. Others, we were fighting; his silence making my ears ring as I begged him to talk to me.
Much to my own frustration, I’d thought about him over the years—birthdays, anniversaries, and such. How could I not? Nobody forgets their first love.
Unfortunately, the same could be said for their first heartbreak too. It didn’t matter that it had been over eighteen years since he’d served me with divorce papers. The pure disdain I felt for that man had kept my thoughts of him fleeting and extinguished all curiosity of where life had taken him.
But deep down, I’d assumed life had taken him somewhere.
Now, as he stood there on Wednesday night, his face blank, no reaction, and his eyes glued to the remnants of The Grille hanging out of the dumpster, I wasn’t so sure.
“Jesus, True. You have to stop scaring me all the damn time.”
Emotionless, he looked down at me. “Technically, you scared me last week.”
I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Mr. Personality to point out the semantics. “Why are you out here? I left the door open so you could come inside tonight.”
“You gutted it?” he asked, his voice timid as if he didn’t want the answer.