Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 47200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
May.
Once I know where I stand with her, I can finalize my big ‘move’ and then tell both May and Steve the real surprise part of my visit.
CHAPTER THREE
May
I’ve spent hours alone in my room, trying to find an outfit that doesn’t make me look so short and wide at the same time, but it’s a losing battle.
I’ve focused on my face and hair, giving up on the clothes.
Stuff I never usually worry about.
But for Brandon…?
If he’s coming to town, I need to look my best. I need him to see I’m not just some kid fresh outta college.
I’m an adult now, ready for all things adult.
The thought makes me shiver inside again.
The memory of his body against mine on graduation day. The heady, woodsy scent of his cologne, the creak of his weathered leather jacket, and fresh white tee shirt underneath.
And oh my god, those muscles! The guy’s built like a linebacker.
“Honey?” My dad chimes, gently rapping on my door, making me jump but letting himself in once I call out to him that I’m decent.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” he starts, but scanning my room, he creases the edge of his mouth with literally every piece of clothing I have laid out.
“Whatcha doin’?” he asks. “Having a fashion parade?”
I crease my brow, screw up my nose and poke my tongue out at my dad.
“I’m just going through my clothes,” I eventually sigh, noticing his look shifting to a concerned one as he takes my hand and sits me down on the end of the bed.
“Honey, you’re not doing all this because Brandon’s coming, are ya?” he asks me.
His tone is very diplomatic and sympathetic, like any good parent who knows their own child.
“What’s wrong with looking nice?” I reply hotly, feeling my face flush deeper than my badly applied blush.
“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Dad replies instantly, crimping a smile, thinking before he speaks, choosing his words carefully.
“I just don’t want you to…,” he starts to say, but he’s already struck a raw nerve because I know what he’s trying to say.
“You don’t want me to make an effort to look nice because there’s no way I can. Is that what you mean?” I snap at him.
Dad looks hurt by my words, shaking his head as he pats my hand.
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, sweetie,” he murmurs.
“Brandon’s an old friend, and he might stay here a few days or get himself a hotel room. But I’m trying to say there’s no need for you to make an impression. Not like this,” he says, eyeing the room again but trailing off once he can see he’s only making it worse.
I go quiet. My insides feel like a knot because a part of me knows he’s right.
I’m a sweatpants and hoodie girl, jeans and tee if it’s warmer. And trying to doll myself up to look like something I’m not is just a stupid idea.
I just want Brandon to notice me, to look nice for him. Not that I’d ever tell my dad that.
“I won’t embarrass you, Dad,” I finally tell him, sniffing back a tear and remarking that I was only trying out some new make-up and going through my clothes.
“It’s not because Brandon’s coming,” I assure him, sounding a little too sure of myself.
But my dad’s no dummy, and he’s also not one to start an argument over nothing, so he lets it go.
Patting my knee, he apologizes for jumping the gun and reminds me that dinner will be soon.
But as he gets up and goes to leave, the look he gives me tells me that he knows a lot more than he’s letting on.
He’s got eyes and ears and a brain too.
And I know he’s right when he says he doesn’t want me to get hurt or feel disappointed. I don’t either.
He’s just being a dad. My dad.
He’s a good dad that has my back.
“I’ll clean all this up,” I say, giving in to my feeling that he’s right. That there’s no point trying to impress a guy like Brandon.
He could have any girl in the world, although he’s good at making me feel like I’m the only girl in the world whenever he’s looked at me, like twice in the past six months. I tell myself he’s probably just like that with everyone.
“Hey, Dad?” I ask before he reaches the door.
“Yup?”
“The place next door sold. I saw the agent putting the sign up when I came home,” I tell him, glad to get off the topic of Brandon and my hopeless, inner romantic fantasies about my dad’s old friend.
“Well, about time,” Dad exclaims. “I wonder who’ll move in? Hope they know what they’re in for. That place needs some work.”
Smiling before he closes my door, it appears he’s relieved his little talk has had the effect he wanted.