Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
I snorted. “No such thing as closure.”
“Closure doesn’t mean an end to thinking about—”
“I don’t need a dictionary definition.” I cut him off with a too-loud voice and a too-mean glare, but I couldn’t seem to calm myself. “Closure means to find peace. Cal’s recovery mission brought nothing but trouble.”
“You’d rather have not known?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I wrung my hands and tried to quiet my pounding pulse. No use. “It’s fine. Send your message.”
It wasn’t fine, not hardly, but I stalked away nonetheless, flopping onto a cement pillar and staring off into space until Sam returned and stood before me.
“Knox and Cal are available to help, hopefully this week. Cal said he’d be by tomorrow if possible. My mom is putting the word out for patio furniture, and Marta is drawing up some rough ideas of what the patio could look like.”
“That’s good.” My voice was far steadier now. “Sorry for freaking out.”
“If anyone’s entitled to a freakout, it’s you.” He jerked his head toward the parking lot. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Go?” I didn’t budge, so Sam pointed, this time more deliberately at my car.
“It’s a Sunday afternoon. George and Marta can handle the early close. You and I are going to collect Buttercup and go for a Sunday drive.”
“I might rather stay and clean.” I knew exactly what Sam was doing, trying to create an environment where I could open up. Nice gesture, but I felt like one of those cheap counter pressure cookers—overloaded, full of steam, about to blow, and probably a waste of decent ingredients. No one needed my spew, but bless Sam for trying. “I’m not sure what good a drive will do me.”
“You don’t have to be sure. You just have to trust me.”
“That part’s easy.” I smiled at him despite my unease because I did trust Sam, a surprising amount, probably more than I’d trusted another person in years.
“Good.” Sam beamed back. “I’ve waited a lot of years to take Worth Stapleton to the bluffs.”
The craggy hills outside of town were popular with wealthy homeowners looking for a view as well as teens looking for a little privacy. “We’re going to Make-Out Mountain?”
“It’s that, or you try talking to me.” Sam shrugged and gestured for my keys.
I had no intention of talking, so I tossed the keys into his waiting hands. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sam
If Worth didn’t want to talk, I had a few other ideas about how to break his dark mood. And if nothing else, driving his overpriced sports car was likely to improve my own mental state.
“Are you worried about tomorrow?” Worth asked from the passenger seat, Buttercup installed in his lap. He seemed slightly less bleak than at Blessed Bean, shoulders relaxed and expression cautiously neutral.
“The Green Label grand opening?” I knew perfectly well he was hoping to distract me with coffee shop talk until I forgot the drive was supposed to be about him, not me. “Nope. Totally out of my control. No point in worrying. We might get less business, might get more, might get none.”
“I have no idea how you do that.” A muscle worked in Worth’s jaw as I slowed to take a sharp curve. “I worry more when I’m not in control. Other than…you know.”
I chuckled gently because I’d never met someone with such a strong need to let someone else drive, in all senses. He craved direction the way my best customers craved a double shot.
“Sex isn’t the only place you can practice giving up control. I know you’re a planner, but some things can’t be planned for.”
“Trust me. I know.” He groaned, mouth opening like he was about to list off his job woes again.
“Not simply bad luck.” I spoke quickly before he could go too far down the unhappy trail. Ahead of us, a white wooden sign flanked by wrinkly red, white, and blue balloons signaled a small dirt driveway. “Good things also happen when you don’t plan. Leave room for the unexpected. Like cherries.”
“Cherries?” Worth frowned as I slowed to turn onto the narrow drive, pulling in beside the open-front shed with a counter full of green baskets and hand-lettered signs. “Oh, it’s a farm stand.” He placed a hand on his stomach like he was testing its current level of crankiness. “Yeah, I could go for some fruit.”
We collected a large container of sweet dark cherries, a smaller one of tart orange Rainier cherries, and little baskets of plump marionberries and raspberries to have later at home with ice cream. I also nabbed some salad greens for dinner and a homemade treat for Buttercup, who was only too happy to explore at the unplanned stop.
After rinsing the cherries at an old-fashioned pump, we drove a bit further down the road to a gravelly overlook, one of several nestled among these hills and part of why local teens were drawn to these back roads. With the bright-blue sky overhead and a warm July breeze, staying in the car felt like a sacrilege, so we lounged against the trunk while nibbling on the cherries. In front of us, Buttercup danced among the scrubby grass and bushes.