Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“Your grandfather talked about the sailing competitions down here once.”
“I know. It’s one of the reasons we picked this place. Did he compete?”
“No … he wanted to, though. You know him,” she says, her tone picking up and getting lighter, “he wanted to do everything under the sun. The only thing that kept him back was my mother.”
“I think he would’ve liked it down here,” I tell my mom but in my head all I can see is Magnolia. I know he would have loved her. She’s soft and sweet, but it’s her laugh and the way it shines in her eyes that roped me in. She’s innocent in a way that’s addictive.
“I’m sure he would have, but couldn’t you have chosen somewhere closer?” my mother fusses and I can feel her stare on me.
I dare to counter, suggesting, “You could always move.”
“I just might,” she says like it’s a threat, and a smirk lifts my lips. “What I really want to know is … do you think this place could be your forever?”
“My forever?” I don’t know why I repeat the last bit. I know exactly what she means even as she gabs on about planting roots and buying a home to invest in.
I don’t think about a damn bit of what she’s saying when I answer her. All I think about are Magnolia and Bridget.
“Yeah, Mom. I think this could be my forever.”
MAGNOLIA
When your heart’s a mess, everything else in life is too. “One day you’re going to fall in love. That boy better not break your heart.”
Lying on the large sectional with Bridget, my statement isn’t heard by a soul. I tuck the throw up to her chin and listen to her soft protest in her sleep as I sit up, leaving her there, snoozing away like she has so many times on Autumn’s sofa.
The drone of a Disney movie can still be heard out here in the living room from her den, but Bridget is a good sleeper and I doubt she’ll stir when I pick her up to take her home in a few hours.
A peek in the den reveals one kid still awake, wide eyed and obsessed, mouthing every line. All the others are asleep or nodding off.
“She’s down for the count?” Sharon asks, her second glass of red in one hand while she offers me a glass of sangria with the other.
I gladly accept and nod before taking a small sip. “Yup.”
I won’t be fooled by Autumn’s sangria. I once thought there’d be less alcohol in it than the wine. It was a night to remember and led to great memories, but a hangover from hell. One glass will do just fine tonight.
“Cheers to Wine Down Wednesday,” Sharon says in a singsong voice, her glass clinking against mine.
“It’s Friday.”
“I don’t care,” Sharon responds in the same tone, her smile staying in place and forcing me to crack a wide smile as well.
“Firepit is going and the monitors are already set up.” I follow her lead and head to the back patio, where the other women are circled around the just started firepit. The small flames have barely caught and Renee takes it upon herself to poke the hunks of wood, shifting them and working her magic.
My mind is busy wondering if Brody likes firepits when I catch Autumn checking the baby monitor. Her little Cameron is only a few months old. I imagine the cup of coffee is for her, just so she can stay awake.
The breeze is just right, a small chill in the air that makes it the perfect throw blanket weather.
“Anyone need a refill?” Sharon questions and while the other women answer, I stare at the fire.
I had my first kiss by a firepit. Asher, way back in tenth grade, threw a party. His dad is real laid back. The kind of laid back where we all knew there would be older kids drinking and a cup or two would find its way over to us. If he happened to see, he’d make sure none of us were driving or getting so drunk we’d be sick. That was the extent of his monitoring. Looking back on it now, I wonder what the heck he was thinking letting teens drink in the airplane hangar, but truthfully, I’m pretty sure his dad started drinking at the same age he started working, which was right around fourteen according to him.
My father would have never allowed such a thing. Truth be told, I was scared to even take a sip from my red Solo cup. If he found out, he’d be livid. Robert was with me, though. We were all seated around the firepit. His hand landed on my knee, his thumb rubbing back and forth against my ripped jeans and I leaned into him. He was so warm, warmer than the fire even. My heart raced and when I kissed him it was like everyone else had disappeared. I’ll never forget that kiss.