Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Goose, you already have a new job,” he reminded me. “You’re not going broke.”
I could see a glimmer of teasing in his eyes. Sure, he had thick brown hair and muscles and could look intimidating, but I knew Harlan. His heart and soul may as well have been a box full of kittens and cupcakes.
“But you’d still take me in, right?” I asked, holding his gaze. “If I needed it?”
Even having his eyes on me felt good. I couldn’t explain why we’d always made for such good friends, but I had always felt an unspoken understanding when he looked at me. I could feel it now, drunk or not.
“I’d take you in whether you were broke or a billionaire, and you know that,” he said. “But you’re about to be on a very popular home renovation TV show. You’ll be just fine.”
“There’s no way the Fixer Brothers would actually keep me on,” I said, furrowing my brow. “It’s got to be a temporary thing, right? They toss me a bone, let me help out with the brewery patio renovations, and then send me on my way, most likely? What the hell do I know about landscaping work?”
Harlan lifted a brow as he reached for his seatbelt and undid it. “They’re going to fall in love with you just like everyone else does, and you’re going to learn on the job and master it, like you always do.”
“Shut up,” I said, reaching over and giving his shoulder a playful push. “No one falls in love with me. The last date I went on ended before I could even buy her dessert.”
He rolled his eyes. “Because she was appalled that you’ve never heard a Taylor Swift song.”
I snorted. “I’m not hip. I get it. But she didn’t have to judge me for it.”
Harlan grinned. “You really aren’t hip. Even the fact that you use the word ‘hip’ isn’t hip.”
I leaned my head back. “You’re more hip than me because you work in a bar. Even though I have a Golden Retriever baby-face and you look like… like a hot Paul Bunyan. Or that guy from Stranger Things—”
“I do not look like David Harbour,” Harlan said as he swung open the driver’s side door. “He’s a famous actor and I just brew beer for a living.”
“You definitely look like him. Trust me, it’s a compliment.”
“Let’s get inside. You need hydration. Your blood is probably about 80% alcohol right now.”
I knew he was going to ignore me calling him hot.
Harlan gave me compliments all the time, but he got all squirrely and blushy every time I paid him one back. Which really only made me want to do it more and more.
“Okay, but we’re watching a real movie on the couch this time, not educational YouTube videos.”
He gave me a look of mock horror. “Hold on,” he said. “You didn’t like the videos about nineteenth-century carpentry? Those were the coolest videos I’ve seen in years—”
“I’m fucking with you,” I said. I reached out and squeezed his forearm gently. “They really were interesting. I mean, I was asleep within twenty minutes, but still.”
“You fall asleep too easily all the time,” Harlan said, shaking his head. “Get your ass inside.”
I could see the smile on his face as we got out of his truck and headed for the front door. I reached in my pocket and used my copy of the key to get inside—Harlan had entrusted me with a spare key to his house from day one, so that I could help dog-sit, plant-sit, or house-sit whenever needed.
Harlan’s little wooden house felt like a second home to me, too. It was at the end of a quiet residential street not far from the brewery, and like most streets here in Jade River, the whole road and all of the houses were surrounded by plenty of pine trees.
I walked inside, kicked off my boots, and beelined down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen. I swung open the refrigerator and found the glass jug of lemonade that Harlan made fresh every few days, and I poured myself a tall glass and chugged.
Cold, sweet, bracing, and tart. Harlan’s lemonade was even better when I was drunk.
“Holy shit, that is good,” I declared as Harlan appeared in the kitchen and Misty, his grey-haired mutt dog, trotted in to greet us.
“Gonna shower. Wash the bar off of me,” Harlan said.
“I’ll hop in after you,” I said. “Wash the farm off of me. For… the last time, I guess.”
It hit me like a kick to the gut. All night, I kept forgetting the truth then remembering it all at once.
Forgetting that the only job I’d ever been good at was gone now.
“Hey,” Harlan said. “No spiraling. You know you’re going to be okay.”
I nodded. “I know. Still helps when you say it to me, though.”