Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Ever heard of texting?” I deadpanned.
“Yes, actually. I texted you several times yesterday and you left me on read. I thought I’d make sure you were still alive and kicking. Last time I was over there, it sounded like things were a little tense with you and Campbell.”
I roll my eyes. “All good now.”
“Really?” The shock registers on his face in real time. “I mean, that’s awesome. I was worried. She seemed so upset the other day and said you two weren’t talking and she’d been sleeping in the guest room …”
“No need to rehash everything.”
“Sorry, yeah.” He massages the back of his neck. “So it’s all good now?”
“That’s … what I just said.” My inbox chimes and I click on a message from the attorney handling the Franklin and Dodd buyout we’re still negotiating. His message simply asks me to call him. I exhale my annoyance and reach for my phone. “Sorry. I was out of the office yesterday, catching up on everything. I can’t do lunch today. Another time?”
Oliver slumps against the door frame, looking like someone ran over his puppy. With everything that happened over the past year, our brotherly bond has taken a bit of a back seat, and now that I’m married, my priorities are shifting faster than any of us ever expected.
“What are you doing this weekend? Maybe we can grab a beer down at the marina,” I suggest, hoping to put a little light back in his eyes.
“Yeah, we should,” he says, lifting his head. “I don’t want to steal you away from Campbell though if you already have plans. I’m glad things are getting better. She’s a nice girl, Slade. I figured it would only be a matter of time before you realized that.”
I spare him the diatribe about how I already knew but was too stubborn to admit it.
“You guys going to go on a honeymoon after all then?” he asks.
“I guess I hadn’t thought about it yet.” Two days ago, she wouldn’t even make eye contact with me, let alone acknowledge my presence. Twenty-four hours ago, we were going at it like rabbits. I’ve hardly had a moment to process the winds of change, let alone contemplate taking her on a proper honeymoon.
Grabbing a pen, I write “call travel agent” on a sticky note and circle it twice.
“Anything else on your mind?” I ask my uncle since he’s yet to budge.
Jutting his chin out, he shakes his head. “Nah. I’ll get a hold of you later this week.”
“Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? Campbell’s planning to cook some big meal. There’ll be more than enough.”
Oliver sniffs a laugh. “I don’t want to be a third wheel.”
“Seven o’clock.” I point to my watch. “Don’t be late.”
The second he’s gone, I text my wife and tell her to set a third place setting later for Oliver, then I dial the attorney.
“Good news!” he answers in the middle of the first ring. “Franklin and Dodd have accepted our offer. As of January 1 next year, their holdings will become property of Delacorte Media Group. Congrats, Slade. I know you’ve been working hard on this deal.”
Leaning back in my leather chair, I kick my feet up on my desk and take a second to appreciate my overwhelming good fortune this week. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve any of it, but I’m grateful. Humbled, even, if one can believe such a thing.
It’s 6 PM when I pull into the driveway. Before, I’d sit in the car, wasting time on my phone before heading inside where I was clearly not welcome in my own home. But now? I’m practically sprinting inside. Only the second I step foot into the foyer, I’m met with a thick haze and the sharp tang of burnt food lingering in the air.
“Campbell?” I call out.
“In the kitchen,” she calls back.
I find her standing at the sink, frantically scrubbing some dish.
“Hey,” I slip my hands around her waist from behind and kiss her cheek. “Everything okay?”
She turns to me, snapping off her rubber gloves, and looking like she’s two seconds from crying.
“What’s wrong? What is it?” I ask, sweeping a strand of her messy hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. The apron hugging her body is covered in miscellaneous food stains and resting on the counter is a dish so charred it’s indistinguishable.
“So … I burned dinner,” she says.
“It happens.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say.
“I don’t know what happened. I was watching these tutorials all afternoon on YouTube and I did everything exactly how they said, and I don’t know? Maybe I used the wrong setting on the oven? I thought I could save the vegetables, but somehow those turned out both undercooked and overcooked.”
I kiss her. “I’ll order in.”
“Can you sign me up for cooking lessons while you’re at it?”