Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
“I’m a firefighter, sir.”
Redford Rough laughs. “They got you trained well, don’t they? If you wouldn’t mind, don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old.”
“I don’t know,” his wife says with a smile. “It makes you seem distinguished. Sir Redford Rough. Almost like you’ve been knighted.”
“Where on earth am I going to keep the armor and sword, Anise? Let alone the horse.”
“Red, being a knight in the twenty-first century doesn’t mean…” Mama Rough turns pink laughing, as do some of the other family members.
“So you’re the new Home firefighter after Jerome retired?” Bartlett asks. “They’ve been on about being understaffed for a while. Even though Home’s been blessed to be mostly fire free, I can see it being stressful. Even if it’s just taking care of a bunch of cats stuck in trees.”
“It’s scheduling, Bart,” I reply with a chuckle. “Even a small department like this needs two or three people on duty for emergencies, and when we’re bored, it’s a good day. They need me so they can spend less time at the firehouse and more time at home with their families.”
“I see.” Bart sips some of his wine. “Well, here’s hoping none of us have to see you in a professional sense then, Hank.”
My focus remains on Fig. “I’m led to believe that Fig here just got back too?”
“Yes,” she says, more meek than I remember her being.
“Fresh out of Paris, after four years in Los Angeles,” Lemon says. “Who knows where she’s off to next on her wonderful world of adventures.”
“Wasn’t some of your studying in California an apprenticeship?” a man in a suit says, and I deduce he’s Lemon’s husband. “You’ve gotta have a job lined up from that.”
“Maybe she wants to go to New York,” Mac chimes in. “Or Chicago. You gotta go to a big city to really make it in fashion I think. Not much demand for such a thing in Home.”
Well, that would suck. To come home to find the most beautiful woman on the planet only for her to run off to some big city.
“Wherever she goes, I’m so proud of her,” Mama Rough says. “She’s a brilliant thinker and I can’t wait to see what she’s going to come up with. She’s going to make the Rough name world famous, I bet.”
Fig turns an embarrassed shade of red. Everyone keeps talking her up, telling her of their high expectations, making their guesses about where she’ll end up. Everything from going back to Paris to doing something original and unique in Tokyo. Like they’re trying to load her with some of their own scattered hopes and dreams.
A room full of people talking about her, and all Fig does is sit quietly. I worry about her, but I can’t say I’m innocent of having a dream for her myself. I want her to stay right here in Home.
Dinner is served and eaten, and it’s as fantastic as I expected. Being a guest at the Rough house means never leaving hungry.
“Pardon me,” Fig says, sliding out from the table. “I uh… gotta go to the little girl’s room.”
The way she says it isn’t very convincing.
She heads up the stairs and I watch her go, unable to take my eyes off the sway in her hips, and that delectable ass her dress hides.
The gulf between an eighteen-year-old and fifteen-year-old is vast, yes. But the difference between a twenty-six-year-old and a twenty-three-year-old?
Yeah, that’s a whole other thing. Maybe I should make my move before it’s too late.
“Pardon me as well, I think Fig’s got the right idea,” I say, sliding out.
“You remember where the bathrooms are?” Reuben asks.
“Oh yeah, I’m good, man. Thanks.”
I head up the stairs, trying to listen for her footsteps over the cacophony of the discussion below.
A lot easier said than done, I know.
3
FIG
The story I was told was that the house expanded more and more as my parents' family grew bigger. Dad kept adding rooms to the house, which ended up making it a bit of an awkward shape. He’s a professional, though, so most of his projects had no troubles.
Until he added my room. For the first eight years of my life, everything was fine. Then we found a fatal design flaw that resulted in a horrible leak that required reconstruction.
I could either room with Lemon or stay in the attic.
Eight-year-old me thought that living in the attic would be the coolest thing ever.
And really? Twenty-three-year-old me thinks the same. I have a nice view of the fields below, it’s extra effort for people to bother me, and my room is bigger than anyone else’s, even if the ceiling is a little bit lower in some places than others.
It’s no wonder I was happy staying in the attic even when my original room was fixed.
It’s still the same as I left it. A bit dusty, to be honest. The fact that you have to use a ladder to get up here has made it hard for Mom to come up here and clean it, I suppose.