Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Cecilia shook her head. “I still can’t believe this. No good deed goes unpunished, right?”
“We’ll get it figured out,” I assured her, setting the water bottle on the nightstand. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like I got run over by a truck,” she said with a little groan. “But my mom found some bedding, so at least I’ve got that going for me.”
“I see that,” I replied. The bed had been made up with sheets and a comforter, and she was tucked inside, lounged back on a couple of pillows with Olive asleep against her chest.
“All this stuff was brand new,” she said, patting the bedding on her lap.
“Lu must’ve bought it,” I said as I kicked off my boots. “The rest of us would’ve been happy with sleeping bags.”
“Oh, whatever,” she joked as I sat down beside her. “I’ve seen your house. You like expensive shit.”
I let out a startled laugh. “What?”
“You’ve got expensive furniture,” she pointed out. “And your bedding is soft as a baby’s ass.”
“I made the furniture,” I said, leaning against the headboard with a sigh. “And bought the only bedding I could find that didn’t have flowers or cartoon characters on it.”
“You made it?” she asked in surprise. “Really?”
“I like working with my hands,” I replied, flexing my fingers. I lifted them up a little from my lap and showed her the tiny scars from all the times I’d nicked and sliced them up working on various projects. “It relaxes me.”
“I get that,” she said. “I like to quilt while I’m binge watching TV.”
“Quilt? Seriously?” I could not imagine the wild girl I’d chased all over Eugene quilting.
“My gram and great aunt taught me,” she said with a shrug. “I have a hard time sitting still. If I’m not doing something while I watch TV, I fall asleep or get bored.”
“Now, that I can believe,” I replied.
“I’m not great at it,” she said, leaning her head back tiredly. “But they’re functional when I’m done.”
“That’s pretty cool. Do you make designs and shit?” The conversation was surface, a throwaway exchange of words, but Jesus, I wanted to know everything about her. The thought made my stomach twist with excitement and sink at the same time.
“Yeah,” she said. “Nothing fancy, though. You should see some of the handmade quilts my gram’s mom and sisters used to make. They’re incredible. My mom gave Cam one when he was a kid, and I think she and my Aunt Callie inherited some more when my gram died.”
At the reference to her gram’s death, we both went quiet. Neither of us would forget that day. We were never the same afterward. Both of us had our own demons to work through, but that hadn’t stopped us from clinging to each other like lifelines. It had made for a messy as fuck relationship, but a solid one, all the same.
“I liked your gram,” I said finally, breaching the silence.
“Everyone liked my gram,” she said with a quiet chuckle. “She was a goddamn saint.”
“Fair point,” I said in concession. “She used to make the best cucumber salad.” I groaned. “To this day, it’s still my favorite food.”
“Cucumber salad? Really?” Cecilia smiled. “That’s so simple to make.”
“You know how to make it?” I asked, my mouth watering.
“It’s not hard,” she replied. “It’s just cucumbers, red onion, vinegar and dill.”
“Maybe it was the ratio,” I said defensively. “Because I’ve had it since, and no one makes it as good as your gram did.”
“It was all that love she put in it,” she joked.
“Hmm,” I squinted my eyes. “That’s what love tastes like?”
“Depends on who you ask,” she replied dryly.
She laughed when I raised my eyebrows.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she admonished. “I meant that cucumber salad isn’t everyone’s favorite food.”
“Uh huh, sure.” I climbed off the bed and walked to the end of the room to where I’d stored my bag.
“What are you doing?” Cecilia asked, sitting up.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I asked as I tugged off my t-shirt.
“It looks like you’re stripping.” She paused. “If this is a show, at least do a little dance.”
I huffed in amusement as I pulled off my jeans, not doing a little dance.
“I’m not sleepin’ in my clothes,” I said as I strode back toward the bed.
“You’re sleeping in here?” she asked as I slid into the bedding beside her. “My parents are here.”
I couldn’t help the loud bark of laughter that left my mouth. She’d sounded so scandalized and worried, so not like the Cecilia I’d known. Hell, we’d once had sex against the outside wall of the clubhouse while everyone—including her boyfriend at the time—partied inside.
“Shut up,” she grumbled. “It’s just that my mom is already saying shit.”
“Like what?” I asked curiously.
“Nothing,” she replied. “Just little comments.”
“Cec,” I said patiently, trying not to laugh, “I didn’t give a shit what your parents thought when we were kids, and I give less of a fuck now.”