Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Maybe we should go somewhere quieter,” I said, looking around at the crowded terrace. Why was I feeling nervous about this? Our history couldn’t be rewritten or erased. I had to pop this little bubble that had formed around us since I came back to Blue Creek.
“Fine.” Charlie crossed his arms, and I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was determined to figure out what happened on the day he shattered my heart into a million tiny pieces.
10
Charlie Marsh
The quieter place we decided on was Austin’s house.
He lived in a one-floor home on the outskirts of town, in a neighborhood that I used to ride my bike through as a kid since the streets were so wide and there was a crazy-ass hill toward the edge of the community. I sprained a bone or two from falls on that hill.
It felt oddly intimate, stepping into Austin’s home for the first time. Normally, one would have an idea of what to expect when they were visiting a friend they’d known for years, except I had no recollection of who Austin was, much less the kinds of furniture and decorations he’d like.
Turns out, Austin’s taste was impeccable. His foyer was all treated birchwood and touches of navy blue and rich evergreens, with a shiplap wall that highlighted a sleepy little nook.
“Wow, this place is great,” I said, walking into the living room and checking out the bold art on the walls. There were exposed beams running across the ceiling, drawing my eyes toward a dark stone fireplace, two cloudlike couches next to it, facing a massive TV hanging on the wall.
“It’s definitely a change from the apartment I was living at in the Bronx.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said, admiring a golden bar cart that held exotic-looking bottles of rum and whiskey.
“Want a drink?” Austin came over to my side and grabbed a bottle of whiskey that appeared wrapped in gold foil. “I picked this one up in Scotland, the motherland of whiskies.”
“I’m usually more of a clear liquor guy myself, but I can’t pass up a chance to try it.”
Austin seemed pleased with my answer. He took the bottle and told me to follow him, leading us through a hall with a skylight in the ceiling and into his spacious kitchen, all white marble and bronze fixtures with a white-and-gray stone backsplash tying it all in. He grabbed two whiskey glasses and set them on the island.
I leaned on the counter and crossed my arms, trying to not get distracted by how good Austin smelled. “Michelle wasn’t too helpful, huh?”
He shook his head as he filled the glass with liquid amber. “I wonder what you did to her.”
“Nothing…! I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything. Amira was there when we broke up. She said we were only dating for a few weeks when I had a mini breakdown at the lake one day. I came out two weeks later. I thought she would have understood.”
“Sounds like she doesn’t,” Austin said, handing me a glass.
I huffed. “And why did she mention her dad? What’s the sheriff got to do with me?”
That made Austin cock his head. “I took it as meaning he was overprotective, but maybe there’s something else there. I should probably have a chat with him. Is he still a massive dickhead?”
Everyone knew about Giles Pope, the sheriff of Blue Creek for the twenty-first year and counting. He had a habit of flashing his gun when he didn’t need to and had no trouble flaunting the power that had undoubtedly gone to his head over the years.
“Yup,” I said. “He gave Alex, my other roommate, a ticket the other day and almost arrested him for talking back. Is that even legal?”
“No, it’s definitely not.” Austin’s face reflected his disgust.
“Forget about what happened with me and Michelle, though. I want to know what happened between us.” I wanted this over with. Austin had to fill in the gaps for me, or I was liable to lose my fucking mind.
Austin sighed and ran a hand through his short dark hair. “Let’s get comfortable, then.”
I followed Austin back into the living room. He set the lights to half brightness and took a seat in the middle of the couch, sinking in. I sat next to him and lifted my glass, clinking the edge with his. I drank, finding the whiskey to be the smoothest I’d ever had.
“Damn,” I said, lifting my brows and taking another sip. “This shit’s good.”
“I told you that you wouldn’t have better whiskey. Ever.”
He leaned forward, setting his glass on a coaster with a smiling pug drawn in the center. “I’m not even sure where to start.”
“Start with how we ended,” I said. My forearms became dotted with goose pimples, and my chest started to feel tight. I couldn’t explain it, but things were feeling right once Austin came back into the picture, and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.