Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“I do,” Wendy says with a smile. “There are lots of leftovers for you while we’re gone. It should last you a few days.”
“I’m capable of cooking, but thank you. It’ll save me time and save me from ordering pizza every day.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to tag along?” Dad asks, worried my feelings are hurt that I got here only for them to leave. It’s my fault, really, for not calling and making sure a visit worked for everyone.
“Yes. Having the house to myself will be peaceful. I’m hoping to have this book almost done by the time you’re back.”
“You can write that much in a week?” Wendy asks.
I nod. “I usually take like a month to write a book, well, the first draft. And that’s while maintaining somewhat of a personal life and going to the gym daily. With no distractions or other obligations, I think I can double my daily word count.”
“Just remember to shower,” Dad adds with a wink.
“You might want to text me on your way back and remind me. Or else you’ll come home to a week of me not showering.”
“Go out and enjoy yourself too,” Dad urges. “You can’t man the boat well on your own, but the jet ski is a one-man vehicle.”
“Or woman,” Wendy adds under her breath, and Dad gives her a you-know-what-I-meant look.
“The keys to both are in the mudroom cabinet,” Dad goes on. “Enjoy the silence while you can, but have some fun too.”
“Writing is fun,” I insist, though there are many nights where I’d rather park my ass on the couch and not move for hours while I binge watch some show I’m not all that invested in. It’s easier than writing, after all. But I really do love what I do for a living.
“I might take the jet ski out for a bit,” I say. “It sounds fun and is a good way to work on my tan without laying in the unbearable heat. It’s so humid.”
“You don’t have much humidity out west,” Wendy notes. “Lucky.”
“Oh, trust me, I know how lucky I am.” It was one of the main reasons I moved to California in the first place. I was sick and tired of being cold in the winter and then melting from the humidity in the summers. LA is nice and all, with ideal weather, but it never felt like home.
For some reason, I always had it in the back of my mind that I’d come back here. It was home for so long, and even though I’d prefer to be on the west coast in the winter, I can’t deny how pretty everything looks when it’s covered in frost and snow, looking like Elsa came through and dusted everything in reflective glassy ice.
And maybe, just maybe, another part of me thought Silver Ridge would be my home again because I loved something—okay, someone—in it.
Chapter Ten
Sam
“You need a pet.” Rory spreads a hand-drawn map on the reclaimed wood dining room table. We’re at Jacob’s house, and baby Adam is home with my parents. We were supposed to have a fun “sibling night out,” but Rory insisted on playing a game instead.
“I’m not home enough for a pet,” I counter, picking up my empty pie plate so the extensive map can fill up the entire table.
“Which is why a cat would be perfect.”
“I’m gone for twelve hours at a time,” I go on. “Well, more, if you count my commute to and from work.”
“You don’t have far to go,” Mason quips, leaning back in his chair, beer in hand. He enjoyed watching Mom badger me all dinner about settling down and having a kid before I got too old, and he’s going to egg Rory on with pestering me over having something to care for. “And cats are easy.”
“Then why don’t you get one?” I shift my gaze to Mason.
“I’m gone for days at a time, not hours. How could I do that to a poor kitty-cat?” he says, faking innocence. He hasn’t been innocent in well over twenty years.
“He has a good point.” Rory pushes a little silver figurine in front of me.
“I’m not playing D&D with you, you nerd.” I push the figurine back.
“Roll for it?” Rory picks up a twenty-sided die and holds out her hand.
“Fine,” I huff and take the dice from her. “Here’s to me not playing.” I roll the dice on the table.
“Two!” Rory pumps her fist in the air. “You’re so playing now.”
I look at Dean, who’s been rather quiet the whole time Rory set up her maps and drawings for a super thrilling game of Dungeons and Dragons. He wants to play as much as I do but is appeasing Rory, which I respect him for.
“I can get you a cat,” Rory goes on, giving Mason, Dean, and Jacob miniature figurines as well.