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)
Indie raises a brow at me. “Help yourself.”
“Oh …” I smirk while chewing the ice. “I plan to.”
She shakes her head, again biting back her grin. “Oh boy … you’re a little extra today, aren’t you?”
“Extra what?”
“Just … extra.”
My eyes narrow. “I think you stole my line. Are you quoting me?”
“Milo, Milo, Milo …”
“Say it again, but deeper, breathier.”
“Stop,” she snorts, covering her mouth.
“Sorry, I’ll behave. Let’s see … how did you end up working as a florist? I mean … it’s very Ruthie of you. But no college, Smarty Pants?”
She runs her fingernail along a crease in the table. “College is expensive. I’m no longer rich. I’m—”
“Free,” I remind her.
Indie lifts her gaze. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I don’t know. I had no clue what I wanted to study. So why go? And when I left everything behind, I realized my dreams and life were mine again. I didn’t have to rush anything. I didn’t have to live up to anyone else’s expectations. So here I am. I’m fantastically poor, yet content with my lower income status.”
I nod slowly. “But are you happy?”
A sadness ghosts along her face. “I mean … I’m good. Are you happy?”
“I’m fucking miserable.” I chuckle. “My norm, I guess.”
“Did you build a new house? That was the plan, right?”
I don’t want to talk about my life, but it’s an unavoidable subject. “It’s in the process of being built. Things keep getting delayed. Plans keep changing. The cost keeps increasing.” I roll my eyes.
“I bet it’s going to be larger than life. Larger than Fletcher’s house.”
I shrug. “It’s a house—a place to eat. Piss. Shower. Sleep. It’s overkill for my needs. In case you forgot … I lived in a barn.”
A smile fights to bend her lips, but I can see it warring with an underlying sadness.
“Still have Ranger?”
“Of course.”
“Does …” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”
“Yeah.”
Indie eyes me.
I grin. “You were gonna ask if he misses you. The answer is yes.”
There it is, that soft radiance that is my Indie girl. The shy blush. Eyes averting. Lips rubbing together.
“Well,” she glances out the window, trying to be coy with me. “How could he not?”
“I know how he feels.”
When Indie looks at me again, emotion builds in her eyes. She clears her throat. “I don’t really care, but I don’t want to be rude, so I’ll ask … how’s Jolene?”
I want to tell her everything. And I want it to be okay. Why does sharing everything with her put lives at risk? It’s so fucking unfair. It makes me feel weak, like every ounce of strength I have is just an illusion that Fletcher allows.
“She kicks ass in the courtroom. And …” I can’t say it. I want to share the only good thing in my life that’s not Indie. But I can’t. It feels too cruel. And I know this because I would feel ripped apart if she told me she had a child with another man.
“And? Is that it?”
The waiter brings my tacos and water. When he leaves us alone again, I remove my utensils from the napkin. “That’s it.”
“She’s good at her job. Fair enough. I didn’t want to ask about her anyway.”
“Me neither.” I bite into my taco and chew it for a few seconds.
Indie watches me. Indie has watched me for as long as I care to remember.
Rope.
Herd.
Brand.
Build.
Repair.
Ride.
Play in the mud.
Sweat in the sun.
Swim across the pond.
Everything is better with her eyes on me.
“I suppose I should be polite and ask about your uh … personal life. Tell me about your boyfriend.”
Her eyes narrow like she’s thinking too hard. “It’s less complicated than your life. His name is Lincoln. His family owns the flower shop. They’re great people.”
“Sounds serious.”
Indie laughs. “Does it? I don’t know about that. I’d use other words to describe it.”
“Such as?”
“Easy. Casual.”
“I see.” I wipe my lips, concealing my grin. “That’s good to know.”
“It is? Why? Because you’re gauging how hard the line is that you want to cross?”
I cough with my fist to my mouth while shaking my head. “N-no.” I cough some more. “I just think you deserve something easy in your life. Lord knows it was never easy with Fletcher.”
“Oh.” Her nose wrinkles. “Well, now I’m a little embarrassed about throwing that terrible assumption out there.”
“Not terrible.”
Indie folds her hands on the table. “I’m sorry about your brother.”
I nod, but I don’t look at her.
“I … I was there,” she whispers.
I squint at her.
“Not…” she focuses on her book, tapping the top with her fingernail “…inside the prison. I parked outside. Then I saw you exit with Fletcher, so I left.”
“Why …” I shake my head. “Why were you there?”
Indie’s gaze finds mine. “I thought maybe you would need someone’s arms.” With a sad smile, she shrugs. “I thought maybe you would need mine.”
I did.