Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
I keep my mouth shut, giving her the opportunity to watch him walk away.
“Chase Woodson is back in town,” she says before I can open my mouth about Cash.
“My parents told me,” I tell her nonchalantly.
“Looks like he’s going through a messy divorce.”
“All divorces are messy,” I argue.
“My parents’ wasn’t.”
“Your parents are aliens.”
She chuckles. “So, what you’re saying is that you’re no longer in love with him?”
I turn my eyes, glaring at her. She’s slow to give me her full attention.
“I never loved Chase Woodson. I can’t stand the man.”
“Thin line between love and hate,” she says, picking up her glass of watered-down soda. “Ready to go?”
The thing about hanging out with Adalynn at the Hairy Frog is that once Cash makes his walk-through, she’s done. He’s the reason she comes here. Once that encounter is over, she no longer has a reason to be here.
I suck down the rest of my drink, just as we are ready to leave.
I may not want to talk about what happened in Austin, but I want to talk about Chase Woodson even less.
Chapter 5
Chase
I pace the sparsely furnished living room, my feet carrying me back and forth over and over. I’ve lifted my phone half a dozen times, but I can’t seem to hit the send button.
Dad was right about needing help with the boys, but Lindell isn’t exactly teeming with people capable of helping. It’s a big decision on who is good enough to take care of your kids. After not being able to trust Emily with her own boys, that list is even shorter.
Having them at the hardware store every day isn’t an option either. They’re getting bored, and that’s going to lead to more accidents. We got lucky earlier today with the minor cut on Cole’s finger. I guess I should just be grateful they didn’t try to saw each other in half.
I cringe at the mental image that gives me. It provides me with the push I need to hit the send button.
The phone rings three times before it connects.
“Hello?”
“Madison?” I say into the phone.
Silence fills the line.
“Hello?” I say when she doesn’t confirm.
“Who is this?” she asks.
“Madison, this is Chase.”
“Chase who?”
I scoff, but she doesn’t laugh.
“Chase Woodson.”
“Who?”
She has got to be joking, right?
“Henry Woodson’s son from next door?”
“Oh.”
I angle my head, trying to hear better because honestly, she has to know who I am.
“Look I was calling—”
“How did you get my number?”
I grind my teeth before answering. This woman is going to bust my balls around every damn corner, I can already tell.
I fight the urge to just hang up because my options are limited to her.
“Your mother gave it to me.”
“Of course she did.”
“Listen, I wanted to ask—”
“Hold please.”
I squeeze my phone in annoyance as a series of rattles comes through the line. Then I hear her chastising her mother for giving out her phone number.
Mrs. Kelly was ecstatic when I called earlier at the insistence of my father after we were done at the vet’s office. Cole’s injury required nothing more than a Band-Aid, but it still left me shaken.
“Chase, I’m so sorry if my mother gave you the wrong impression, but I’m not—”
“You’ve already found work?”
“Excuse me?”
“When I spoke with your mom, she assured me you were unemployed.”
More silence separates us.
“Did you find a job?” I ask, looking down at my watch. “In the last fifteen minutes.”
“You told me you were on the phone with Aunt Bertie!” Madison yells, obviously not speaking to me.
“I was hoping we could meet to discuss a job opportunity.”
“Opportunity?” she asks, already sounding skeptical.
“Yes,” I say.
“I’ll think about it.”
The call ends.
I pull the phone from my ear, and stare at the offensive thing.
Madison Kelly has never been my biggest fan, but it’s been more than a decade since high school. I honestly thought she’d grow out of whatever issue she had with me. Clearly, she hasn’t.
Maybe it was my fault for thinking she was mature enough to handle a simple phone call.
I turn my head, keeping my eyes closed until my neck pops before twisting it the opposite way and getting the same result. After a handful of calming breaths, I hit redial and wait. She never agreed to meet me and this isn’t something I can wait to get an answer to. If she can’t help me, then I need to find an alternative.
“What?” she snaps the second the call connects.
“I’d like to meet later today to discuss this,” I say.
“Like a date?”
“Like a job interview.”
I have to pull my phone from my ear because of the ensuing silence to make sure she hasn’t hung up on me again.
“The Brew and Chew in two hours?”
“I have plans today, Mr. Woodson. Tomorrow will work better for me. See you at noon,” she counters and then she hangs up.
Maybe she doesn’t understand just how busy the diner gets on Sunday after church, but I guess I have no other recourse than to be okay with her demands.