Forever Writing You Read Online Whitney G

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic, Novella Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 24266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
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His phone suddenly buzzes and he answers.

“Hello?” He sets the phone on speaker so I can hear, too. “Yeah, Dad. I can hear you.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ll need another rain check, I'm afraid. I got a call from Tom Cruise’s people for an emergency, and I had to do it.”

“Can I just fly to you instead?”

“Well I…that would be rather tricky.”

“Why?”

“Well, because what would you do after we caught up over dinner or lunch?”

“Hang out with you…”

“Oh, son. Someone your age doesn’t want to hang out with an old man like me. There’s not much here for you to do besides sleep and swim in the pool anyway.”

“That’d be fine.”

“I’ll save you from boredom. I promise to use this next raincheck. Love you son. Gotta go!”

He hangs up before Everett can answer.

“He said he’ll be here next time.” He acts like I haven’t heard every word.

I don’t mention the tears falling down his face.

“Does your mom still burn rotted wood on the last Sunday of the month?” he asks.

I nod.

“You think she’d care if we got started now?”

“Probably not.”

We walk to the garden, and he undresses, throwing his blazer and beret into the flames.

One by one, he burns the magazines.

His father never calls again.

Everett never calls him either.

TEN

Everett

A couple of days later

“Are you having a boy or a girl?” The interior designer asked as Carmen and I walked into the main room upstairs.

“We’re not pregnant yet.” Carmen pressed a hand against my chest. “This is just where we want the nursery to be. Right, Everett?”

“Right.”

“Ah, I see.” The designer smiled and moved to the end of the room, opening the windows. “Well, I can totally work with this amazing space, and I think we should go with neutrals for now. After the wedding and once you’re expecting, we can throw in whatever pop of color you seem fit. Sound good?”

“Sounds awesome!”

“Do you two want to keep the closet’s sliding barn doors?”

“Hell no.” Carmen let go of me. “Speaking of other things we need to change, we were wondering if you could get us a custom chair after we knock out that wall. Let me show you some examples…”

I tuned out their conversation and picked up the sage green rattle Carmen had placed on the windowsill this morning.

It was one of the few things I’d saved from my childhood, a toy I’d been pictured with alongside my dad in the sparse frames we shared.

Dahlia was the one who insisted that I save it, that I pass it along to our child we often dreamed about, but⁠—

Fuck. I stopped that thought. We may not need to stay in Eads River.

“Mr. Anderson?” A courier stepped in front of me with balloons and flower vases. “I have a delivery for you and the soon-to-be-Mrs.”

“You can bring them over here so I can snap pictures!” Carmen yelled from the other side of the room.

“I’ll just take the notes,” I said.

He obliged, plucking them off and handing them to me.

They were all unsigned, sporting sweet yet generic phrases. “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials, “Just heard the news!” “May you last forever!”

I remembered how Dahlia’s mother often sent these out to residents, so I knew these were from her. And unlike Dahlia, she was behaving like an adult.

“Can you please send Miss Kate my regards, please?” I said to the courier. “Tell her to save a dance for me at my wedding.”

“I would, but…” His face paled. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because Mrs. Foster died weeks ago,” he said. “She didn’t send these. The notes were from your old firm in New York, but they didn’t personalize them.”

“Dahlia’s mom passed away?” I didn’t hear shit else he said. “From what?”

“The same thing she’s struggled with for years,” he said. “You were here then.”

“She beat it four times.”

“She couldn’t surpass five.” His voice cracked. “Should I send your condolences to her family?”

“No, I….” I couldn’t believe his words, couldn’t understand why Dahlia didn’t mention this to me. “Tell me who’s running the garden now. Who did she leave it to?”

“Come on, Everett.” He looked straight through me. “Who do you think?”

ELEVEN

Dahlia

“Help! I need to place an emergency order!” An older man rushed to the counter half an hour before closing time. “I have to get some flowers for my ex-wife as soon as possible.”

“Well, you’re in the right place.” I pulled out a pen. “Would you like to add a note to the order?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “It needs to say, ‘Dear Farrah, saw these today and thought of you…Hope you’re miserable, you crusty-faced, dry-pussy bitch.”

“Um…Sir, I don’t think⁠—”

“For the flowers, I want you to give me a bouquet that is near death.”

“We don’t sell dead flowers, sir.”

“What about those?” He pointed to the ones in the mistake box. “Those look pretty bad.”

“That’s why they’re not on sale.”

“So, you can’t just give them to me?”


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