Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
One of us won’t hold up a big sheet of paper to our bedroom window at bedtime with the words I’M SORRY scribbled in all caps. One of us won’t offer a giant-sized Snickers bar as a truce.
“Smitten isn’t the right word, Mom.” Colten’s gaze flits to mine, sliding down my face and over my entire body as he maintains a contemplative expression. There’s a newness interwoven with the old familiar parts of Colten Mosley, a tiny glimpse of those missing seventeen years when he transformed from a boy to a man.
A lanky teen to a filled-out man with a thick scruff along his jaw and face.
A dreamer without purpose to a professional with stature.
A heartbreaker to … what sometimes feels like a glimpse of the brokenhearted.
Did his daughter’s mom break his heart?
“Happy,” Colten says, returning his gaze to mine, the hint of a sincere smile touching his lips. “I’m happy that Josie has found her calling in life. It would have been a shame for her to settle for anything less than her dreams.”
Fuck you, Mosley.
My dreams? Is he serious?
“How are your parents, Josie? I feel so out of touch since Trenton died. Is your dad still Chief of Police? Are they still in Des Moines? Does your mom still teach sign language at the community college?”
“My dad took early retirement two years ago, and my mom retired six months later. Dad sold the fifth wheel even though he still hunts, and they bought an RV. They still have their house in Des Moines, but they’re on the road more than they’re home.”
Becca tries to smile, but it’s a failed attempt. I always wondered why she stayed with Trenton after he cheated on her. More than once, I overheard my parents talking about it. I never caught the “why” part, but I remember my mom always saying Becca was a better woman than most. Years later, it occurred to me that my mom was giving my father a subtle warning that she would not be tolerant or forgiving if he was ever unfaithful.
“I always thought Trenton and I would move to Florida when he retired, maybe Sanibel Island.”
The muscles in Colten’s jaw work overtime at the mention of his father’s name. This visit has reached its limit.
I stand. “I hate to be such a terrible hostess. Had I known you were coming, I would have planned accordingly, but I need a shower. My day is filled with plans.”
“We really must have dinner when Reagan gets here,” Becca says, taking Colten’s proffered hand to help her up from the sofa. It’s a kind gesture. He’s always been a mama’s boy.
I choose a smile as my response. It’s friendly and noncommittal. There’s no way I’m going down the Mosley rabbit hole again, but I’m not a complete asshole who says it to Becca’s face.
“Do you remember when I used to make chicken enchiladas? Those were your favorite.”
Tightening my smile, I nod once. My mom made the best baked goods, but Becca’s meals were better. I basically invited myself to dinner on chicken enchilada night.
“I hope you enjoy your time with your granddaughter.”
“Oh, I can’t wait.” Becca beams like a bright star.
I remind myself that it’s been seventeen years. Colten’s level of discomfort with this conversation is not my concern. Whatever he did to fuck up his personal life is none of my business. But there’s no denying that his daughter brings much-needed joy to Becca’s life.
When we reach my front door, Becca pulls me in for another hug, leaving Colten in my line of sight over her shoulder. With his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, his gaze flits around the space, anywhere but meeting mine. Becca always loved me. By our senior year, I felt certain she thought I’d be her daughter-in-law.
And if I’m being honest and peeling back the scar tissue covering seventeen-year-old wounds, I’ll admit I thought the same thing.
As Becca heads toward the street, Colten hangs back a minute, preventing me from closing my door. “Thanks. She really wanted to see you.”
I nod.
“I’m glad you’re well, Josie. Really.” He lifts his hand and traces the healing cut on my forehead. A breath later, he drops his hand.
I manage one last nod. I much prefer dealing with Detective Mosley on my turf at work where I feel a good ten steps ahead of him unless he’s chasing me down a flight of stairs. Bringing his mom to my house, uninvited, on a Saturday morning is out of bounds.
Just as I think he’s going to say something else, his phone chimes, and he answers it. “Mosley.” He winks at me and struts toward the street.
Closing the door, I march toward the bathroom to shower, feeling a mix of anger and that familiar attraction. That wink. That stupid wink. It’s just like the first time he winked at me when we were younger.