Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Darlene looked at the ceiling. “You hear that one, Hank? Freedom!” she harrumphed. “I’m not trying to put him in jail, for goodness sake. I just want him to settle down and start a family. He’s thirty-two already! He’s going to run out of sap!”
I tried not to laugh. “I think he enjoys his independence, that’s all.”
“He’s too independent for his own good,” she scoffed, eyeing me critically. “I must say, I’m a little disappointed, Blair. I thought you’d be on my side.”
I held up my palms. “I’m not taking sides. I just know that Griffin has very definite opinions on this subject, and he’s never going to do anything just because someone else wants him to.”
“Oh, he’s a stubborn one, that’s for sure.” She softened her tone. “Don’t you think he’d make a good husband, though? And a great dad? He’s very loyal. And underneath all that bluster, he’s really sweet. He likes taking care of people. He’s very protective.”
“I agree.” I smiled, thinking of the way he’d taken care of me last night—actually since the moment he’d caught me on the sidewalk. “But I kind of like the bluster too, you know? There’s something endearing about it.”
“I suppose there is. His father was the same way, God rest his soul, and we were together for almost forty years.” She sighed. “So maybe there’s still hope.”
Griffin and I had a quick working lunch together, during which we discussed a few more ideas for the Labor Day weekend event—he liked my idea for a raffle and gave me several good suggestions for prizes—a budget for some new lobby furniture, and the name of a reporter at the local newspaper who was a good customer and might be willing to give us some press.
“Great,” I said, writing down the name and making a note to get an email address or phone number. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” He crumpled up his sandwich wrapper and stuffed it into the empty brown deli bag. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah.” I looked up and saw his brow knitted in concern. “Why?”
“I don’t know. You seem a little distracted.”
“Sorry. A lot on my mind.”
He tipped up the last of his iced tea. “My mother say something to upset you?”
“No.” I shrugged and looked at my half-eaten sandwich. “Just the thing about the spare room not being ready. You’re sure it’s okay I crash with you until it is?”
“I’m completely, one hundred percent sure, and you know it. I want my bedtime story. And I have plans for you.”
I met his eyes as warmth crept into my face. “You do?”
“Yes. But they have to wait until after the game.”
I smiled, perking up again. “I’m looking forward to watching.”
“Good. But are you changing the subject because you don’t want to tell me what’s bothering you? You’ve hardly touched your lunch.”
Sighing, I set my pen down and sat back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Okay. I got another message from my mother this morning asking me to please call and let her know I’m not dead or kidnapped.”
“You haven’t called her since you left?”
“No! I’m mad at her. I wanted her support to live my life the way I want to live it, and she wouldn’t give it to me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Mothers can be tough.”
“But I did call her back to let her know I was safe.”
“Good.”
“Of course, once she heard what happened with my car she gave me a big fat I told you so lecture. She said it was clearly a sign that I’m not cut out for independence and I should come home immediately before I get myself abducted by sex traffickers on the side of the road.”
Griffin rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to her.”
“I didn’t. I’m not. It’s just . . .” I took a deep, shaky breath. “Hard.”
“That’s life.”
“She said I was abandoning my family.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Griffin stood up and came around to my side of the table, dropping into the chair next to me. “Listen. It’s good that you called her and told her you’re safe, but you don’t owe her any more than that. Just like I don’t owe my mother grandchildren.”
“I guess.”
“Come on.” He chucked me gently beneath the chin. “She obviously raised you to have the backbone and guts to go after your dream, right? She should be proud of you. You should be proud of you.”
“But I haven’t done anything yet.”
He took my chin in his hand this time, forcing me to look at him. “You will. Don’t quit.”
His blue eyes were full of sincerity—he believed in me. It made all the difference. I smiled. “Okay.”
After lunch, I went back into the bay and asked Andy for his girlfriend’s contact information so I could get in touch regarding a new logo and website design. Then I spent the rest of the afternoon at the desk, dedicating every spare moment I had to the renovation and the grand reopening event. Several people came in inquiring about the scones, and I had to tell them we were all out but to please come back tomorrow—I was planning to make lemon lavender shortbread. At the market this morning, I’d purchased lavender from the local farm, and I couldn’t wait to use it.