Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
But Wake Westfield, the blunt speaker of all blunt speakers, had rubbed off on me. In a day. And here I was, telling Rest like it was.
Shit.
The RV that I was in took that moment to shake with the wind that was forcefully blowing in from the ocean.
I’d moved my RV today. Previously, it’d been at my old office, in front of the wreckage. However, this morning I’d gotten a call that they needed the parking lot clear because they were about to start on demolition and debris removal. Meaning, my office would be built back to all its previous glory in exactly six months. Or so the contractor assured me.
I’d moved the RV to public beach parking, guessing that by tonight I’d have to move it to my place or Wake’s, depending on if he forced the situation with us living together permanently.
I still wasn’t altogether sure why the hell I was living with him. But it felt right, and from a very young age, I’d known to trust my instincts. And my instincts were screaming at me that staying exactly where I was, under Wake’s eye, was the way to do it.
Then again, maybe that was my guilt for taking a life.
I didn’t know.
All I knew was that I was going to stay with Wake, and damn the consequences.
“Wow, it sure is windy,” Rest said nervously.
I placed my pen that I was using to take notes on the paper, then sat forward and placed that paper on the coffee table between us.
“Rest,” I said quietly. “I think you should move on, and stop living your life hoping that your mother will come back into it. Your mother is not your future. Your future is babies, and a wife, and grandbabies. A house in the country.”
That’d been one of Rest’s most animatedly detailed dreams that he’d shared with me. To own a farm where he could grow vegetables, and he could raise his kids in the country life that he’d had before his father had passed away.
“A house.” His eyes glowed then. “I have been denying myself that, haven’t I?”
His mother was a staunch believer that city-living was the best kind of living. After Rest’s father had died of a heart attack at thirty-nine, after sixteen years of living on a farm and raising their son, she’d left. Leaving a hole in Rest’s heart.
“You have,” I said simply.
“Then I’ll do it. You don’t happen to want to sell that brand-new house of yours, do you?” he asked jokingly.
He’d asked it every time he’d seen me since I’d bought it six months ago.
I tilted my head as the perfect solution to a dilemma presented itself to me. “Tell you what. You take Thelma and Louise, the goats, and I’ll sell it to you for what I paid for it.”
Rest jumped up like I’d punched him in the chest. “Sold!”
Was it possible to sell a house in a day?
Yes, when you knew the man that did the title transfers and owned a closing company.
Rest had the house in his name by the end of the day, and I was quite a bit richer.
He’d given me a bonus for rush selling and leaving all the furniture in it.
Which worked for me because I didn’t want, nor need, it anyway.
I was shoving all my shit into trash bags in my bedroom when I heard the pipes.
Smiling to myself at how excited I was that Wake was on his way here to see me, to check in, made me practically skip to the door in my haste to see him.
I flung it open and watched as he finished the trek up my—now Rest’s—driveway.
When he stopped and put both feet down, I couldn’t help but stare at him in awe.
He was dressed in jeans, black boots, a black T-shirt, and backward ball cap with shades covering his eyes.
It shouldn’t be as hot as it was, yet, there I was, practically dancing at the sight of him.
He caught sight of me and smirked.
I wondered if he knew what he did to me.
My guess? He knew he tied me in knots.
“Hey,” I said when he got close enough. “What are you doing here?”
From what I understood this morning, he hadn’t planned on being back until way later tonight. He’d told me that he had a meeting to attend with a shareholder at a bank, and he would be out of touch until then.
That’d been why I hadn’t told him about the house, or asked permission to park my RV in his front yard.
Tomorrow, it’d be gone, back at the public beach access again. But yet, that night, I’d still need to return it there until I found a more semi-permanent solution.
“Came to see why you’re here and not at my—our—place,” he answered. “Got home early to find the RV there, but no you. Checked in with your neighbor, and found out your car was here. So here I am.”