Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“You did?”
“I did. Because there was no more information to be found, and I wanted to have a marriage.”
I nod. I always thought my parents had a good marriage.
“We’ve been so happy,” she says as if reading my mind. “But now that this is all coming up again…” She puts her glove back on, pulls out another bulb, and shoves it in the pile.
“Mom, Dad loves you.”
“I know that. I’ve always known that. We’re as in love today as we were thirty-five years ago, but I don’t want to go back to that place, Brendan. That place where your father is so focused on something to the detriment of anything else.”
“He’s retired now, Mom. He has the time.”
“For sure,” she says. “But you’ve never seen your father that way. I have. It’s not a pretty sight.”
“But if there’s information out there…”
“I’m not going back to that place. I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure he leaves the past in the past.”
I don’t reply.
My father’s older now, and perhaps he’ll be content to let this lie.
I, on the other hand? This is a puzzle, and like Mom said, I’m as curious as my father is.
I will find out what it all means. Ava and I, together, will figure it out.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AVA
Brendan loves Italian food, so I choose to make chicken piccata and a side of pasta with lemon and olive oil. It’s an easy enough recipe, one I learned from Aunt Marj when I was still a teenager. It’s simple and makes a lovely presentation.
I grabbed a bottle of my dad’s Pinot Grigio from the liquor store that will go perfectly with the meal. It’s in the refrigerator chilling.
Everything is set, but I’m still in my bathrobe after having taken my shower when I got back from the bakery. I head to the bedroom to choose an outfit for tonight.
Last night I wore a flowing dress. It’s kind of what I’m known for, but tonight?
I want to look a bit sexier for Brendan.
My God, this is so not me.
But I choose a tank top—a tight-fitting one—made of simple stretchy cotton.
No bra.
My nipples poke through the fabric, but that’s okay.
Then a denim miniskirt and simple flip-flops on my feet.
I leave my hair down in soft waves around my shoulders, and I add some large hoop earrings.
Not too bad, I say to myself.
Then I jerk at the loud knock on the door. I go down the stairs, let Brendan in the back way. He looks gorgeous, of course, in jeans and a blue button-down that brings out his bright-blue eyes. His hair is usually tied back, but tonight he wears it down, and I desperately want to run my fingers through it.
He looks me over.
And his mouth drops open.
“My God, Ava. You look like a dream.”
“I know it’s not my normal look.”
“I mean, you’re always sexy.”
I open my mouth too, but then I close it quickly.
Brendan is attracted to me for whatever reason. Why should I tell him not to be?
I’ve always felt like the ugly stepchild of the Steel family. Even though I’m not a stepchild. I’m a full-blooded Steel. But even those of us who aren’t Steel blood—Dale, Donny, and Henry—are all incredibly good-looking.
I’m the ugly duckling of the bunch.
But Brendan doesn’t think so.
“Come on up.” I smile.
He follows me up the stairs, and when he gets to the top, he inhales. “Wow. Smells amazing in here.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I smell garlic, lemon. What are you making?”
“Chicken piccata with a side of pasta.” I open the refrigerator and take out the bottle of Pinot Grigio. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Yeah, sounds great.”
I fumble with the corkscrew, and he takes it from me. “Allow me. I’m a professional.”
I smile.
His hair falls right below his shoulders. I think it’s actually longer than mine.
I grab two stemmed glasses out of my cupboard and set them on the counter. Brendan fills them both and hands one to me. He picks up the other and clinks it to my glass.
“To a memorable evening.”
Warmth flies to my cheeks.
“Yes, to a memorable evening,” I echo.
I take a sip of the crisp white wine. Much to my father’s chagrin, I’ve never been a huge wine drinker—or any kind of alcohol drinker—but I do like his Pinot Grigio. While most of the Steel family favors red wine, I prefer white. My father only makes a few white wines, not counting the sparkling varieties—this one, a Chardonnay, and a white Rhône blend.
Funny how I still think of him as the winemaker. He’s retired, and Dale has taken over. But I can’t see my father ever truly retiring. Just like my mother never truly retired from her—
“Oh my God!” I say.
Brendan jolts. “What? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, but why didn’t I think of this before? My mother is a detective. I need to ask her about that text.”