Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“There’s nothing I love more than watching you clean the chicken coops.” He offers his hand and a winning smile.
I place my hand in his, as I’ve done so many times. But now, even that feels different. Fishing me out of the water, he plunks my ass next to him in the tall grass, bending the blades in wayward directions. On an unavoidable giggle, I fall back and gaze at the clear summer sky and breathe in the earthy scent of grass and honeysuckle. “So you’re going to watch me?”
Milo lies next to me. “Absolutely.”
“Because you want to make sure I do it or because you like watching me?”
He remains still and silent for a long moment before turning his head. My head lolls to the side to meet his gaze.
I’m so heartbroken. Maybe what I feel for Milo is nothing more than a childish crush. Maybe Milo’s love is the only love I’ve felt since Ruthie died. Maybe my hatred for Jolene has messed with my feelings toward everyone, including Milo. But right now, I’m angry that Jolene is taking my Milo.
“Watching you is my favorite job.”
“Pfft … I’m your job? That’s …” I return my attention to the sky. “Well, that just sucks.”
He laughs. “Why does that suck?”
“Because it’s not authentic. Maybe Jolene is okay with her life being a series of arrangements and transactions, but I want the real deal.”
“Indie, I like watching you. And it’s real. Does that make you feel better?”
My head flops back to the side, and I smile. “So you really like watching me? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Speaking of deals. What’s yours today? You’re extra …”
“Extra what?” I ask.
“Just extra.”
I roll toward him, and for the briefest few seconds, he inspects my body. It gives me a tiny thrill, a jolt of excitement. I know he’s marrying Jolene. I know he’s somehow indebted to Fletcher. But for years, he’s been mine. My friend. My family. My protector. My angel. My Milo. And before long, he’s going to be Jolene’s husband. And it’s going to crush me.
That’s when I’ll run. I’ll go to college as far away from here as I can get. I’ll immerse myself in a life that has nothing to do with Fletcher Ellington.
“I used to have a crush on you,” I say, staring at the tattoos on his chest because I can’t make this confession and look him in the eye. “So it was always weird when you, Ruthie, or Fletcher made the brother and sister reference. I didn’t want to think of you as my brother. But now that you’re marrying Jolene, I suppose you’ll officially be family.” I trap my lower lip between my teeth and think about that. “Good thing I no longer have a crush on you.”
Biggest. Lie. Ever.
I risk a glance at him.
Milo’s eyes gloss over with a distant, sad nothingness.
“For the record,” I say, “I hate Jolene. I know I shouldn’t hate anyone, but she’s worked hard to earn every ounce of my hatred. But I like you, Milo. So as a wedding gift to both of you, I’ll try to hate her a little less.”
His eyebrows draw together. “Why do you hate her?”
“For the same reason I hate Fletcher. They think I’m an impostor. They think I’m not worthy. The only redeeming quality they have is their keenness for you.”
Milo brings his hand to my face, ghosting it over my cheek for a few seconds and whipping my heart into acting like a racehorse.
It engulfs my skin, a wildfire out of control. It’s a different feeling than I’ve ever felt before. Different than it felt when I used to snuggle up to him in his bed after Ruthie died. Different than him ruffling my hair or carrying my drunk ass out of Camden’s house. I feel this touch in my chest—a gentle hand squeezing my heart, but not claiming it. More of a reminder that it’s always been his.
Drawing a shaking breath, I hold it, trying to conceal what his touch does to me. Can he read my mind? Does he know I can’t look at him and not think, “my Milo?” Can he feel my pulse racing, my heart bouncing around in my chest from his touch, the endless waves of goosebumps along my bare skin despite the scorching Texas heat?
My composure can’t withstand his touch, so I close my eyes and rest my hand over his to steady my emotions. I turn my head a fraction until my lips brush his palm. It’s not a kiss, but it’s intimate to me. And it hurts because it’s familiar and safe, yet new and exciting. And I’m scared that nothing will ever feel like this again. I’m afraid no other man will ever touch me and make me feel like I do now.