Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
“Not really. Happy wife, happy life.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Just don’t forget I hate coconut cake.”
As though I could forget. Grady was very vocal about his likes and dislikes, which was another reason Avon’s go-with-the-flow personality complemented his so well.
“And pound cake,” he added. “Pound cake is gross.”
“We’ll save the pounding for the wedding night,” I said lightly. “I need to get back to the kitchen, guys.”
I waved as I left and headed back in the direction of the kitchen. While walking, I saw a little boy sitting alone at a table, his brow furrowed as he stared at his untouched scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.
“Hey, everything okay?” I asked, stopping at his table.
He looked up at me through wire-rimmed glasses. “Does this have shellfish in it?”
Poor kid. He was probably hungry but worried about eating something he was allergic to.
“There are no shellfish in it,” I assured him. “I’m the chef here, and we have a special area in the kitchen for shellfish. None of this food was anywhere near there.”
“Okay, thank you,” he said.
He was wiry, his sandy brown hair cut short and his expression serious. Though he was sitting at a table with four chairs, there was nothing on the table but his plate.
“Are you here alone?” I asked him.
“No, my dad’s coming. He was here, but he went back to our room to poop because he doesn’t like pooping in public bathrooms.”
“I see.” I held in a laugh. “Well, I’m Shea, and if you need anything else, ask for me and I’ll come right out, okay?”
“Okay. My name’s Spencer.” He set down his fork and offered me his hand.
I shook his hand, impressed by his maturity. “How old are you, Spencer?”
“I’m nine.”
“It’s very nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” he said, biting off the end of a slice of bacon.
I wanted to sit down and talk to him, but the hollandaise sauce wasn’t going to whisk itself, so I gave him a little wave and went back to the kitchen.
The kids who stayed here made my job more fun. I hoped to one day have kids of my own, though it was looking less likely with each passing year.
CHAPTER THREE
Holt
“Holt Sellers,” Ryan Grady said with a grin. “It’s been too long, man.”
He gave me a backslapping man hug, and then Keller Strauss did the same. They sat at a table at the bar in The Sleepy Moose, where we were meeting up to discuss the new youth arena.
“How’s retirement?” Keller asked me. “Are you getting in lots of fishing?”
I scoffed. “Are you kidding? I’m a single dad. I cut crusts off of PB&Js, run my kids around to activities and fall asleep reading bedtime stories.”
“Living the dream,” Grady said.
“Aren’t you engaged?” I asked him wryly.
“Yep. The wedding is next month.”
“Shit, man. This time next year, you’ll be walking around with a baby sling.”
He shrugged. “I hope so. We want kids. And my mother is so desperate for grandkids, I think she might start overseeing our efforts to get pregnant.”
Keller nodded. “Yeah, I can actually see her setting up a lawn chair at the foot of the bed. Maybe wearing one of those hats with a light on it.”
I laughed and did my best imitation of a mom. “Son, you need to go deeper!”
Keller cackled and joined in. “No, that’s not where her clit is, Ryan!”
Grady grimaced. “Stop it, assholes. I don’t need that mental image living rent-free in my head.”
Keller and I exchanged a look as a server approached our table. I ordered a light beer, still too full from my late breakfast with Spencer to eat.
“Seriously, though,” I said to my old friends, “if you guys know of any six-year-old girls or nine-year-old boys, I want to help my kids make friends here.”
“Isn’t Mark Hanes’s daughter around six?” Grady asked Keller.
“Probably. And the Henson triplets are nine, two of them are boys.”
“Maybe I should have a party or something,” I said. “Spencer’s turning ten in July. You think they’d let me have a party here?”
“Have it at The Barn,” Keller said.
I furrowed my brow, unsure what he meant.
“It’s a huge barn-shaped building I had built for events,” he said. “It’s on the other side of the lake. We do barn dances, bonfires, wedding receptions, that kind of thing.”
“That sounds perfect. Andrea always planned the kids’ parties, so I’ll have to figure all that out.”
“Talk to my sister,” Grady said. “She’s great at event planning. She and Avon are planning the wedding.”
“How is Shea? I haven’t seen her since high school.”
“Shea’s good. She’s the chef here.”
“Really? That’s great.”
I vaguely remembered Grady’s younger sister. We hadn’t hung out much since she was younger, but I’d seen her a few times when I was with Grady. I remembered her with braces and thick glasses. Sweet kid.