Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
He wasn’t sure how to respond to the compliment. The truth was, he never paid much attention, usually buying whatever was on sale. He studied the tight, silky, shoulder-length curls she kept off her forehead with a scarf that matched her outfit.
“I would ask you the same question, but Hugo already told me what you do for a living.”
Yesterday. It made him think about how many details he still didn’t know.
“There’s no better marketing team than family,” she said with a grin. “That’s my motto.”
“I wonder if you think that soap he uses might work for me. The one that smells like apples?”
She looked up at him and bit the corner of her still curving lips. “I’m afraid he loved it so much I only make it for him now. But I’m glad to hear that you approve. If you’re willing, I’d love to try a few products I’m working on out on you sometime.”
His smile was so broad his face ached from it. “Anytime.”
“Oh my,” she said softly. “I can see it now. You should smile more often, Solomon.”
What did she see? He looked around uncomfortably. “You were going to give me a tour?”
“I am. Starting now.”
His father’s house was small but serviceable, with all the necessary furniture but no signs of life. No sense that any family lived there at all, let alone seven growing boys.
The Wayne’s place was different. It was a home. There was proof in every corner and on every wall that life happened here. That there were people who loved well and laughed often…and read excessively, if the books left open on the arms of fat, worn leather chairs and filling every shelf in sight was any indication. It made sense, with Hugo’s father being an English lit professor.
Austen guided him down a hallway where the walls were covered in framed pictures of the family, and Solomon couldn’t stop staring.
They weren’t the usual images he’d seen on the walls in other homes with children. There were no awkward eighth grade school pictures or formal graduation shots to be found. These were professionally done group photos with the Waynes in poses varying from amusing to artistic. They wore costumes, had props, and from the sheer number of them, he would guess it was an annual event.
He’d never seen anything like it, but he had a feeling a few of the newer members of his family would be all for making it another Finn tradition if given the chance.
He must have made a noise, because Austen patted his arm and chuckled. “Crazy, I know. It started as a joke. We’d agreed to get a family portrait, but no one had any desire to sit like a generic bump on a log at one of those places in the mall. Instead we went all out and had a blast. Now there are email chains filled with heated discussions on each potential theme. We’ve done everything from recreating works of art to favorite television shows, and the only constant is our father finding an excuse to hold a book in every frame. He says no one would recognize him without one.”
He smiled in acknowledgment, his throat oddly tight. “These are great.”
His eyes were drawn to Hugo over and over again. Even in photographs, the sheer presence of him was captivating. “You have a beautiful family.”
“We do what we can. Come on, handsome, I’ve monopolized you long enough. Now that we’ve dipped your toe into the waters of Wayne, let’s go to the kitchen and jump right in.”
He hesitated and she squeezed his arm again, her expression kind. “Don’t worry, Solomon. Bronte, Thoreau and I are all in your corner.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we’re willing to give you the opportunity to make my brother smile and mean it again.” She stopped him before they got any closer to the sound of laughter and clattering dishes.
“I can see you trying, and I’m here for you, but I also believe that you did something that hurt him last year. Do it again and we’ll be having a very different conversation.”
“I understand.” Instead of scaring him off, the warning gave him more reason to hope. To believe that they thought Hugo had missed him at all made him feel better than he had in months.
“Anyone else on my side?” he joked weakly. “I could use all the help I can get.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Not at the moment, I’m afraid, but the night is young. Bring your A game, Chief. We’ll see what we can do after that.”
The first thing he noticed when they rounded the corner of the crowded kitchen was that Hugo wasn’t in it.
“Mama, look who brought you wine and flowers,” Bronte said, coming up to him with a wink while taking the bag out of Austen’s hand. “Did you find the leprechaun?”