Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
She’d shattered her other lenses yesterday morning.
“Absolutely,” I answered. The last thing any of us needed was Mom driving into town without her glasses.
“The whole season?” a woman asked through the phone, shock evident in her voice.
“Every season,” I corrected her as I strolled through the new shopping development where Mom’s optometrist was located. It was the same one where Chuck’s mom had built her café, so at least I wasn’t completely lost in this new section of town.
“Every. Season,” she repeated.
“You got it. As long as Tim Fredericks plays for the Jr. Bucs, I want you to charge his fees to my card. Tournaments. Hotel stays. Ice time. Your pro-shop for gear. Everything.” I stuck my card back into my wallet and pocketed it.
“That’s…a lot, Mr. Foster.”
“You’re not going to max the card out, trust me.” I grinned, spotting a florist shop on the corner. After Mom finished her appointment, we’d have time to swing by the hardware shop and surprise Ryleigh. Shit. I’d never asked what her favorite flower was, but all girls liked roses, right?
“If you’re sure,” the treasurer from the Jr. Bucs said slowly, like I’d lost my mind.
“I’m more than sure. And if anything else comes up for that kid, just call me. I’ll take care of it. Oh, and keep it anonymous. Just tell the family it’s some kind of grant or scholarship, would you?”
“Sure, that’s no problem.”
I hung up with the treasurer and slipped my phone into my pocket. The money was nothing to me now, but I’d seen just how hard Mom and Dad had struggled to keep me on the ice. If I could make it just a little easier for the Fredericks family, it was worth it.
Stop borrowing tomorrow’s troubles. Dad’s advice played through my mind, and my footsteps lightened as I neared the florist shop.
What if there wasn’t any trouble? Everything was so easy with Ryleigh. Laughter. Trust. Sex—damn, was the sex good. It wasn’t just the best I’d ever had, it was the best every single time. Sleeping next to her was easy. Waking up next to her? Even easier. Being with Ryleigh was effortless because it was right.
It was only a year. What the fuck was I so worried about? A year from now Ryleigh’s brother would be home from college, and she’d be free. She would have fulfilled what she felt was her obligation to her family, and we could go anywhere. Do anything. She wouldn’t be tied to Cherry Creek—or hell, we could even spend our summers here.
I could buy out Chuck’s half of her dream house.
I grinned and walked into the florist shop, waving at the woman behind the counter before checking out the bouquets in the refrigerated display case.
A year. We could do long distance for a year. I’d fly home on bye weekends and hopefully talk her into visiting Charleston when she could. We’d talk on the phone and Facetime. It would be hard, but so fucking worth it because this was real. This was it.
She was the one.
My heart thundered as I grabbed the biggest bouquet the store had on display—three dozen roses.
I was in love with Ryleigh Dunham.
The gangly, obnoxious, intrusive little tomboy next door had grown up to become the only woman I couldn’t live without, and I was good with it. I was better than good with it. I was fucking great.
I checked out and damn-near whistled as I left the shop. If Briggs could balance his career and supporting Bristol’s, and Jansen and London could work together without killing each other, then surely Ryleigh and I could handle a year of long distance. The answer was so easy that it was almost laughable.
The sidewalk just about sizzled from the July heat as I walked back toward the truck, passing the optometrist’s office and looking up just as the doors to the café opened and two figures walked out onto the wide porch.
I did a double take.
There’s no way.
My stomach hit the fucking floor as Ryleigh stood on the porch with Chuck, smiling up at him like he’d just made every one of her dreams come true. Smiling at him like she…still loved him.
It doesn’t mean anything. There were about a thousand different reasons for them to be there. Together. Looking as intimate as a couple.
The door to the optometrist jingled behind me.
“What do you think?” Mom asked as she came up beside me turning her head left and right to model her new glasses.
“Uh.” I glanced her direction, but my brain misfired and I looked back across the small parking lot at where Chuck stood with Ryleigh—my Ryleigh, his smile soft and doting.
Was this for real?
“Caspian—Oh.” Mom’s attention whipped between the couple—because that’s sure as hell what they looked like—on the porch, and me.
My grip tightened on the bouquet, pain lancing through my fingers.