Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Light, harmless flirting.” Nora put descriptors on it.
“I’m uncertain Tom found it harmless,” I returned.
In fact, I was certain he found it harmful.
I was certain of this considering his mood was so thick by the time we bid adieu, I had to fight back the urge to request a machete to cut through it as we made our way to the door.
“Then he should have staked his claim,” Nora stated breezily.
“Euw. Mom’s not a ‘claim,’ Auntie Nora,” Cadence cut in. “She’s a woman.”
“She’s both, darling,” Nora replied to my girl. “And when you find the man, or woman, or whatever, who you want to make yours, you best be staking your claim too.”
“No one is a belonging,” Cadence educated.
“Indeed,” Nora retorted. “We nevertheless give ourselves. Our love. Our attention. Our time. Our devotion. Our thoughts. Our promise of fidelity. Our care. Are those not every important thing we possess?”
“Yes, but those are given,” Cadence pointed out.
“Consider this,” Nora returned. “They are given when they are won. To win them you must earn trust. Prove loyalty. Offer support. Validation. Protection. Love. And you must give large pieces of yourself in return, all those parts I mentioned before. And one of the ways to start doing that is by flirting. Another way to do it is to make sure the person you wish to win knows you wish to win them, and you do that by staking your claim.”
Stymied, Cadence had no rejoinder.
Although this life lesson for my beautiful girl was fascinating, and I had a few caveats I wanted to add, I was too bogged down by the fact that, evidently, even though Tom had ended things with Paloma, and even with how matters had taken an unexpected course with that envelope, and that was explained to me, Tom’s distance from me was not erased.
We’d had hamburgers flavored by dollops of spaghetti sauce and stuffed with mozzarella (no, Tom did not have enough of any of this in his “larder,” at least not enough to feed eight people, Dru and Cadence had taken my Tesla to procure it, and Tom had been pressed into service to grill the burgers, something he did expertly, because…of course he would).
Chloe, by the way, made tater tots from scratch.
They were divine.
I’d formed the burgers and thrown together a salad.
We’d worked together in Tom’s kitchen like we’d been doing it for years.
It was unnerving.
And awesome.
Through this, and beyond, Tom was cordial, but distant from me, and this became more obvious with no Davises around, no tennis to be played and no one showing up unexpectedly at the door.
He was great with Cadence and Dru.
It warmed the heart to see how loving he was with Chloe. How respectful and friendly he was to Judge and Jamie.
Though he was gracious yet wary around Nora, but most everyone was.
Nope.
It was just me.
So, when Jamie lightheartedly started flirting with me—me, a woman who prided herself in never, ever playing games—hurt and confused (and let’s face it, we’re talking Jamie Oakley here, so perhaps a little flattered), I flirted back.
It was fun.
It was still pointed (on my part).
And I sensed Jamie had ulterior motives too, and they didn’t include being serious about me.
The longer it went on, the more audacious Jamie became (and we’ll just say, he was an excellent flirt), the more I joined in, the darker Tom’s mood.
Nora and Chloe watched this, practically purring.
Cadence and Dru seemed to miss it, but they were fast becoming best buds and already had a coffee date at Wild Iris up in Prescott (my daughter was never going to get her papers written).
Judge, I felt badly to note, spent a lot of time trying to run interference by attempting to divert Tom’s attention.
The attempt was valiant, but alas, this didn’t work all that well.
And when we left, Tom practically slammed the door behind us.
I transferred my attention back to my ceiling and whispered, “God, I fucked things up.”
“You know who’s thinking that same thing?” Nora asked.
I didn’t answer.
She did.
“Tom Pierce.”
“I think I need sleep,” I muttered.
Nora came right in and gave me a peck on the cheek.
Staying close, she ordered, “Don’t miss a wink. You were perfect. I was so proud of you, I almost burst.”
Ugh.
She scooted off the bed.
Cadence came close.
“It’s messed up, but I think Aunt Nora’s right.”
“Playing games is not as fun as people make it out to be,” I told her. “And if you do it too much, it can begin to define you.”
She scrunched one side of her mouth up so much, her cheek scrunched with it and one eye winked, doing this along with giving a one-shouldered shrug, before she said, “But I guess if the guy you like, who also likes you, isn’t doing his part, you have to do something to wake him up. Am I right?”