Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“Smooth,” Alden muttered. “It couldn’t have been that early because Prissy Newton was out for her chai latte when she saw him, and she never leaves the house before seven.”
I needed a change of subject ASAP. “Have either of you heard from PJ? He’s been awfully quiet lately about how art school is going. I’m starting to worry.”
Castor’s twin brother had always had wings on his feet, so I’d done everything I could to help him fly. PJ was a talented painter, and he wanted to see the art of the world—Florence, Paris, Berlin, London, Vienna… His bucket list was never-ending, and I hoped his education would give him the start he needed.
But my brothers and Georgia and I had been a unit for so many years it was strange to go more than a week without at least getting a funny text or picture from each of them.
Alden flapped a hand over his shoulder. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s been dreaming about going to MassArt for years. Now thanks to you, he’s living the dream, and he’s having too much fun to call home. Stop worrying already.”
Pop was conspicuously silent.
“Pop, what do you think? Have you talked to him?” I asked.
“I don’t like the kids he lives with,” Pop grumbled. “It’s not a good environment for studying.”
Alden laughed. “I’m not sure it’s called studying in art school. Maybe he just needs a nice place to splatter paints against a canvas.”
Pop gave Alden a harsh look, which wasn’t like him. Alden immediately made a sound of apology.
“I just wish there’d been room in the dorms, that’s all,” Pop said finally. “I’m sure he’ll find his way.”
I didn’t tell him there’d been plenty of room in the dorms. That hadn’t been the problem. The problem had been the fourteen grand price tag in addition to the three grand needed for his health insurance. It wouldn’t have left him enough money to buy art supplies. Thankfully, he’d found a group of students to live with off campus. It meant sharing a tiny room with three other kids in bunks, but it also included a kitchen where he could save money by cooking at home.
Before I could worry too much about another one of my brothers, Alden pulled into the Retreat and parked the Mini next to a familiar convertible sports car.
“Fucking Christ,” I muttered. “Why is Frog here? I swear to god, if Willow invited him again…”
“Hush.” Pop opened the door to climb out. “I asked him. Huck wanted his thoughts on sustainable packaging.”
“Packaging for what?” I blurted, hopping out and turning to scan the family group for the familiar stylish head of hair. Sure enough, he was standing there yucking it up with my father, who was looking at him like he was the messiah. I walked over to eavesdrop.
Huck was as eager as a puppy. “That’s what I told him. The bag-in-box setup will actually give additional shelf life to the mead itself. It provides a—”
“Are you kidding me?” I asked, not bothering to interrupt politely. “What the hell do you know about the shelf life of mead?”
“Firecracker! Hey, buddy,” Huck said, beaming and throwing an arm over my shoulder. “I read an article about different ways beverage companies can reduce their carbon footprint. I think it’s important for Honeybridge Mead to set an example for—”
I interrupted him again because that was the kind of mood I was in. “Since when do you care about my business?”
Like a record scratch, my heated tone made everyone stop talking and turn to see what was going on. Huck’s eyes looked like saucers, and I immediately regretted my words.
JT’s forehead crinkled in concern, but he kept his mouth shut, thank god.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” I began, trying to figure out a way to un-asshole myself.
Huck shook his head sadly. “No. I get why you might feel that way, Flynn. Your mom and I aren’t always around to help out the way you’d probably like. But that doesn’t mean we don’t care about the Meadery. Or that we’re not proud of what you’ve done with it.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I said again. “It’s just been a long…” I glanced at JT against my better judgment. Heat raced up my neck to my face. “Day.”
Castor, ever the peacemaker, shoved a cold mason jar holding some kind of fruit drink into my hand. “Rum punch. Chuck it down.”
I took a giant gulp, already knowing Cas’s special recipe would hit the spot. Instead of apologizing yet again, I wandered over to the water’s edge and focused on downing the alcohol in hopes it would chill me the hell out.
While I brooded, I overheard snippets of conversation. JT telling Willow about a vegan restaurant she should try the next time she and Huck were in New York. JT asking Pop if he needed more help in the shop tomorrow. JT laughing with Castor about something.