Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“This is dangerous. I could probably eat this entire thing.”
“Go ahead. It’s your pie.”
I went over to a drawer and took out another fork. “You eat some too. That way if it’s gone tomorrow morning, I can share the blame.”
She laughed and took the fork from my hand. “Okay. Maybe just a few bites.”
While we ate, she told me about making the pie with her grandmother today, how labor-intensive it was, how she’d never been too interested in baking from scratch before but found something really satisfying about it.
“When I go home, I’ve got strict instructions from Grams to teach my sister Emme how to bake this. She’s getting married next month, and Grams is convinced that homemade pie is the glue that holds a marriage together. Keeps a husband from straying.” She rolled her eyes. “She actually used those words. I love her like crazy, but she has some seriously old-fashioned ideas in her head.”
“I don’t know,” I said, sticking another bite into my mouth. “This pie is pretty fucking good.”
She laughed. “I’m glad you like it. But it’s not magical. Grams talks about it like it has mystical powers.”
“It might.” Setting down my fork, I tipped back the rest of my beer. “If I could eat something like this every day, I’d stay put.”
She smiled. “You’re not the type to stray, anyway. I can tell.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that?” Curious, I sat back and studied her.
“I’m good at reading people. And I can tell you’re one of the good guys. You’re honorable.”
That’s because you don’t know that right now I’m thinking about how good your tits look in that sweater. “Really.”
She lifted her shoulders. “Really.”
God, she was so fucking pretty. And I loved that she thought I was honorable, even if I wasn’t so sure. I wanted to know more about her. “You just have the one sister? Or are there more of you?”
“There’s one more. The baby sister, Maren. She’s out in Oregon with her fiancé.” She laughed nervously. “Both my younger sisters are getting married before me. Feels kind of weird.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’ve just always been first to hit the big milestones. This feels a little like a failure, to tell you the truth.”
“Nah.” I shook my head, surprised but flattered that she’d confide something so personal. “I’m pretty sure you’ve never failed at anything your whole life.”
A blush crept onto her cheeks. “What about you? Brothers or sisters?”
“Two sisters. Both older than me.”
“Are you close?”
I thought for a second. “We were as kids. But we don’t see each other that often. They’re married with their own families. You close to yours?”
She nodded and set down her fork. “Very. Family is really important to me. I have great memories of visiting Grams and Gramps with my sisters when we were young. We used to fight over this swing in the yard.”
“Swing?”
“Yes, there used to be one hanging from a big old birch tree. Gramps made it and he used to push us on it.”
I imagined the scene—three little golden-haired girls all clamoring for their turn. I’d have bet anything Stella let the others go first. I tilted my empty beer bottle this way and that on the table, torn between wanting to ask her more about herself and hoping she’d leave soon so I wouldn’t have to talk about me.
But I was surprised at how easy it was to talk to her. This was definitely the most words I’d said to anyone but Mack in the last few months. Maybe I could keep things focused on her. “You grew up downstate somewhere?”
She nodded. “Just north of Detroit. I still live there.”
“And you’re a therapist, right?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you’re good at reading people?”
“Partly.” She pulled all her hair over one shoulder. “But I think I’ve always been kind of good at it. I was very shy as a kid, not much of a talker. More of an observer and a thinker. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Were you a talker or a thinker as a kid?”
“Neither. I was just plain wild. An adrenaline junkie.”
She smiled. “I bet you had a lot of broken bones.”
“I did.”
“The military must have been a shock.”
I nodded slowly, wondering what all she’d heard about me. “At first.”
She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What made you enlist?”
I didn’t want to get into losing my mom and the shitty aftermath of her death, how I’d been so fucking angry, but also searching so hard for something good, something right, some cause worth dying for, so I kept it simple. “I was nineteen and needed to get out of the house. Didn’t have the money for college. Wasn’t sure what I wanted to do.”
“You were a Marine, right?”
“Yes.” I rubbed a hand along the back of my neck. My dim little kitchen, which only a moment ago had felt cozy, now felt slightly claustrophobic.