Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
“I won’t. Now I’ve got to get, or I’ll be late. First impressions are everything.” I wink. She stands there with her hands on her hips but also with a smile.
“That’s right. You knock her socks off. I need more estrogen in this family.” And they think I’m the jokester. Who do they think I get it from? I hop in the driver’s seat, the only goal on my mind getting to Dove and making her want me as much as I want her.
Four
Dove
“Would you stop fidgeting,” I tell myself as I’m looking in the mirror that’s still set up in my childhood room. Yep, talk about feeling like a double failure—move back home into your parents’ house and work at our family-run hardware store, that was a major hit to my ego. It could be worse. I could be living in a studio apartment the size of a postage stamp, jobless, with little to eat in my pantry, and barely scraping by to pay for said apartment.
I look at the black tank top and jean skirt that’s mid-thigh and light in color and decide at the last minute to throw on a floral duster cardigan that reaches mid-calf, tying the look together with my boots. I decided to leave my hair down in loose curls instead of the messy bun it’s usually in for work.
“Dovie,” I hear my dad call out the nickname only he and Mom call me. Mom is still recovering from her heart attack, another reason that sent my ass home. The minute Daddy called, I hightailed it back home and didn’t look back. I knew they’d need help at the hardware store, even when Mom is annoyed as all get-out that Dad is treating her like a child.
“Coming!” We live in a modest home, a three-bedroom, two-bathroom, single story ranch-style house on the edge of town. All of us in this area live on small plots of land around an acre or less. Nothing like what the McCray family owns, that’s for sure. I’m walking down the hallway trying to prepare myself for this date that Trace is hell bent on having when I hear them talking.
“Well, this is a surprise,” I hear my dad say to Trace.
“In more ways than one,” Trace responds. When he comes into my view, I’m stunned speechless. Every time I’ve seen him since being back home, he’s been in his usual work-style clothes of plain shirt, worn in jeans, and even more so worn-in boots. Tonight, though, he’s dressed up. The way he made that statement lets me know he’s putting two and two together, not that Trace wouldn’t have regardless. I don’t think my parents have redecorated the house or changed out pictures since ever.
“There she is. If you’re not coming home tonight, make sure you call or text your mother.” I stop where she’s sitting, a chair that Dad has basically made her park and stay in after she’s done anything that could cause her any kind of strenuous activity.
“I doubt it’ll come to that, but I will.” I bend down and kiss her cheek. She knew the minute I walked into the house after closing down for the day that I was flustered. It took me all of five minutes to spill my guts, then she was telling me what I should wear and to get my rear in gear.
“Oh, I think you might be wrong about that. Have a good time, Dovie.” I look so much like my mother. I have the same skin tone, hair color, smile, and even the same tenacity as she does.
“Alright, love you.” I wave at her.
“Love you. Honey, come here, please.” She’s using that tone to get her way, but I know for a fact it’s to get Daddy away from Trace.
“See you later,” Dad tells Trace and then rushes over to Mom’s side, forgetting that I’m going out on a date, thankfully.
“Damn, Dove. Not sure I want to take you out to dinner or back to my place so no one else can see you.” My skin heats up at his statement.
“Trace,” I practically purr like a cat in heat.
“I know, plus I think we have some talking to do. So, as much as I’d love to take you back to my place, I’m thinking that wouldn’t be a good idea since we’d do a lot more than talk.” Trace licks his lower lip, my eyes watching it the entire time.
“You’re probably right.” I grab my purse from the hook by the door, his hand goes to my lower back, and he escorts me out of the house. All the while my nerves are a jumbled mess at his pronouncement of needing to talk. Any time someone uses those words, it’s usually in a doom-and-gloom-type setting. I really hope that’s not the case here.