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)
“I didn’t. But the guy in the store mentioned it mattered which hand you used and which way you carved. I remembered you carving at one of the Scout campouts when we were younger and hitting PJ with the chips because you carved away from yourself instead of toward yourself.” He grinned. “The guy at the store said that meant you needed the left-handed jack. I took a chance. Glad I was right.”
McLean let out a soft laugh. “Grandpa Horace said I was too young to carve toward me. He was afraid I’d cut myself. By the time he trusted me to change, it was too late.” He looked back up at JT. “Thank you so much for this. I’ll… I’ll make you something with it.”
JT nodded seriously. “I’d like that. It would be nice to have a touch of Honeybridge on my desk at work.”
McLean smiled shyly and wandered off to inspect his new tool on his own, away from prying eyes.
“That was nice of you,” I admitted grudgingly, my eyes on the lake. “Thinking of Mac.”
“I’m a nice guy, Flynn.” JT’s eyes begged me to believe him. “Or I try to be, anyway.”
I made a noncommittal noise. There were many more examples of not-niceness on the tip of my tongue, just waiting for me to call them forward the way I had every other time JT and I talked. Dozens of hurts and misunderstandings I could have used to reinforce my own anger. But I was tired of fighting the pull of JT.
I was tired of being so damn scared.
I really wished Alden hadn’t stolen my drink. At least then I’d have something to focus on besides the man beside me. Seeing him here, interacting with my family, being kind and generous to my beloved brother, was doing things to me.
Dangerous things.
I stuck my hands in the back pockets of my shorts and tilted my chin toward the lake path that ran past the artists’ cottages, asking a silent question. Come with me? JT nodded eagerly and fell into step at my side.
For a moment, we walked the path in silence as my family’s voices faded behind us. The silence wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t easy either. Years’ worth of things we’d never talked about seemed to walk alongside us.
“It’s funny, you know?” he said as we passed into the tree line at the edge of the clearing. “I would’ve told you that I didn’t think about Honeybridge much when I wasn’t here, but I guess I did. I mean, I texted Pop pictures from the Andy Warhol exhibit at the MoMA last month, ’cause I knew he’d like ’em. And when I was out west last spring, I sent your mom some seeds so she could grow—”
“California poppies,” I finished, turning to stare at him. “That was you?”
He nodded. “They’re supposed to be good for sleep tinctures. And then last month I wandered into this hobby store one day. I sometimes feel like all I do is work, and maybe I need a hobby. And I thought of McLean and how whittling was comforting to him.”
And me? I wanted to ask but couldn’t. Did you think about me?
“What about, um, squash? Do you still play?” I asked instead. He’d been an avid sportsman growing up: golfing, swimming, and sailing in the summer, playing squash and basketball, and skiing in the winter.
“Yeah, actually,” he said brightly. “The building I live in has squash courts. That’s one of the reasons I chose it. I have a few folks I play with from time to time. I ski, too, when I can manage a few days off. And run, obviously. Sometimes on the High Line.”
I nodded. I hated that he knew everything about me—every street in my town, the bakery I frequented, which freaking hand my brother whittled with—but I couldn’t picture anything about his real life with his high-rise apartment building and his fancy corporate job.
“Well. If you’re up for a swimming competition, I could probably make that happen,” I offered.
He laughed and let his shoulder knock into mine. “And that wouldn’t be because you’re an amazing swimmer and I’m terrible in comparison, would it?”
“You’re not… terrible,” I argued.
JT grabbed at his chest and turned toward me, sending a lock of his perfect hair into his eyes. “Oh my god,” he gasped. “Oh, shit. Was that… was that a compliment? Coming from you? Warn a guy before you rock his foundations to the core like that, Honeycutt.”
I knocked my shoulder into his, harder this time. “I take it back. You’re an asshole and a terrible swimmer. In fact, you have no redeeming qualities whatsoever.”
JT hooked his finger into my pocket, tugging me to a stop. “Interesting.” His voice dropped an octave to something huskier and far more promising. “You seemed pretty convinced I had some redeeming qualities last night when I had my—”