Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
I hate the term beau. It sounds so old fashioned, but there’s also something so much more to it than boyfriend—a solidity, a sense of time and history. It makes me cringe. Because I hadn’t even been thinking of Sam when I kissed Macon. I rarely do think of her in conjunction with him anymore. I am now, however. It twists and curls in my belly like an agitated snake.
I don’t want to tell my mother about how Macon viewed Sam. It isn’t my place to say. Still, I can’t keep from cringing.
Mama notices and makes a small tsking noise. “Although I have my doubts over how serious they ever were.”
I grip my glass a little harder, my hands slipping on the condensation. “And yet you brought up their relationship.”
She does a double take as if she’s just realizing something, and her lips purse. “Lord, I didn’t even . . . no, honey, I didn’t mean you should be ashamed or guilty about being drawn to Macon. I was merely thinking in terms of complications.” She reaches across the table. Her smooth, cool hand wraps around mine. “You and Macon make more sense than he and Sam ever did.”
Shock has my heart tripping. “Why would you say that?”
“Sam and Macon never sparked the way you do. They were . . . flat, off in a way. They brought out the worst in each other. Oh, not how you and Macon would engage in petty bickering, but something darker. They made each other less than they could be.”
“I can’t believe it. You never said a word.”
She half shrugs and sips her sweet tea. “Maybe I should have stepped in and said something to Sam. But she seemed to need Macon at the time. And he did too.”
I draw a circle through the condensation on my glass. My head hurts. Everything hurts, really. A constant low throb of discomfort.
I don’t know how much of my thoughts show on my face, but Mama watches me with a fond yet distant gaze, as if remembering another time. “But you and that boy . . .” She smiles faintly. “Showers of sparks. You light each other up.”
I eye her sidelong. “You used to say we were like gas and oil. And that was not a good thing.”
She bats that away with a flick of her wrist. “Gas and oil are combustible. Not ideal when you have two children fighting. But it’s an entirely different matter when you’re talking about love.”
Groaning, I rest my head in my hands. “No one said anything about love.”
“Then what are we talking about?” She sounds exasperated.
“I don’t know,” I say weakly.
With an audible sigh, Mama touches my arm again, forcing me to look at her. Empathy lines her eyes. “Darling, you and Macon . . .” She pauses, wrinkles deepening over her forehead. “There is no one on this earth I know of who has the ability to get to you like that boy does.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Her tone is soft and understanding. “It means you care. You’ve always cared what he thought of you. And while I’d love to see the two of you finally click, tread lightly, baby. I don’t want you hurt. And I fear this one will hurt quite a bit if it doesn’t go the way you hope.”
I know all this. I knew it when I fled Macon’s house.
“Why does my past with him haunt me? I don’t want it to.” Fisting my hands, I heave a sigh. “Why can’t I fully forgive him?”
“I don’t know, Dee. It’s easy for those on the outside looking in to say, ‘Get over a hurt; move on.’ But some wounds fester no matter how badly we want them to heal.”
“I want to be with Macon free and easy. I was so close to letting all that old baggage go, Mama. Then Sam calls and reminds me of the horrible things we’ve said and done to each other.” I groan again and press the heels of my hands to my eyes. “The old fear and animosity returned to sit on my skin like sludge.”
“What does Macon have to say about it?”
“He was crushed.” God, the look in his eyes. I need to go home, see if he’s all right. When did Macon become my home?
Her “hmm” has me inwardly cringing. “Did you tell him exactly how you feel? Or just point out his misdeeds?”
Swallowing, I blink up at the ceiling as though it might have the answers. “I always fumble when it comes to Macon.”
My mother keeps talking—gently because she truly does know me. “The fact that you’re willing to even try with Macon Saint speaks volumes. Don’t beat yourself up for taking your time getting all the way there.”
“You’re supposed to have a magical solution to make it all clear and easy,” I mutter.