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)
No wonder the discussion of runny eggs made him look “peaky.”
“Don’t want any,” he mumbled. He took a cautious sip of black coffee before staring back down at his phone.
“Of course you do,” Mother countered. “You love eggs, Reagan! Remember when you used to dunk your bread soldiers in your soft-boiled eggs as a child and joke that you’d eaten a whole army?”
“That was you as a child, Mother.”
“Oh.” Mother seemed startled for a second that her childhood experiences were not our experiences, almost as though we were wholly distinct human beings. “In any case, nothing could be better than a nice gooey egg for perking you up! And Rosalia made a special stop at the farm stand to get them, so we know they were laid just this morning by hardworking Honeybridge hens.”
Reagan shook his head and went a shade paler, the idea of hens laying gooey eggs not helping him in the slightest.
“How do we know they’re hardworking?” I asked, drawing my mother’s attention because I was the best big brother and not at all because I enjoyed baiting her.
“I…” She blinked. “Well… because. They’re from Honeybridge.”
“Sound reasoning.” I nodded thoughtfully. Then I added, “And kudos to you for letting go of the Honeycutt-Wellbridge rivalry, at least as it pertains to breakfast food.”
Mother snorted delicately. “Rivalry? Pfft. Honestly, Jonathan, it’s hardly a rivalry. A rivalry would imply that the Honeycutts are our competition, when it’s quite apparent to even the most casual observer that Wellbridges exist in a social strata that’s far above—” She stopped and narrowed her eyes. “Wait. What does that have to do with our breakfast?”
“Oh, only that when I ran past the farm stand the other morning, I happened to see Willow Honeycutt delivering some eggs.” I sipped my coffee and shrugged, innocent as a tiny baby. “You remember she’s kept chickens out at the Retreat for years, right?”
In point of fact, my mother was not only aware of Willow Honeycutt’s chickens, but she’d campaigned for a town ordinance against what she called “nuisance birds.”
Mother’s jaw dropped. “On second thought, don’t eat those eggs, Reagan,” she said firmly. “I feel like a buttered croissant would be more restorative. The croissants are from Natalie Trowbridge’s bakery, and even though her grandfather was a Honeycutt, her sister married a Wellbridge, which shows the evolution of good sense.” She nodded once, in total agreement with herself.
“And couldn’t we all use a little more good sense, really?” I asked no one in particular. I snatched one of the pastries from the basket in the center of the table, then added, “Just out of curiosity, where do we get our butter?”
Mother opened her mouth, then pinched it shut again, and I made a mental note to apologize to Rosalia for the conversation she was going to be subjected to sometime soon.
Reagan flashed me the barest hint of a smile.
“Maybe you should just go back to bed, Rea,” I suggested, earning myself what I considered serious brother points. “Sleep off your, ah… peakiness.”
My mother stared at me like I’d suggested Reagan jog through the neighborhood naked and quacking. “He couldn’t possibly! Honestly, Jonathan, what are you thinking? Today is Saturday. Box Day Saturday! A day of redemption I’ve been toiling toward since last year’s…” She paused and touched a lock of her perfect ice-blonde bob. “…setback.” The doorbell chimed, and she sat forward excitedly. “Trudy and Louise agreed that I’m a shoo-in. In fact, I’m certain that doorbell is a delivery from the florist to celebrate my win in advance.”
I hid my grimace behind my coffee cup. It would take far greater capacity for willful ignorance than I currently possessed for me not to have heard my mother talk about Box Day all day, every day since my arrival, but I’d really expected to be back in the city before I had to experience it. Sadly for me, Flynn Honeycutt hadn’t fallen in line with my plans.
Not only had the stubborn ass turned down Fortress’s proposal in his office on Wednesday, but he’d also ignored all three messages I’d left him yesterday, too, asking him to get in touch with me.
Clearly, the only way to pin the man down was to do it in person… and if I’d gotten nothing else from our brief meeting Thursday, I’d for sure been reminded of just how much I wanted to pin Flynn down.
Preferably against a bed.
With ropes to bind him there, if necessary.
“Jonathan? Jonathan, now you’re looking flushed!” Mother complained. “Are you ill also?”
“Er, no.” I blinked away my thoughts. “I’m fine. But I won’t be able to make it to the Box Day presentation, I’m afraid.” I shrugged apologetically. “Duty calls. I need to talk to Flynn about the Fortress contract. I’m sorry I’ll miss seeing what you and long-lost Cousin Henrietta”—but let’s be honest, mostly Henrietta—“came up with.”