Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Jameson
I slide my phone from my pocket and type out a text.
Jameson: What are you doing right now?
I press send and wait for her reply. It’s been less than five hours since I left Sinclair standing in the penthouse, and I miss her already.
I glance at the bed next to me.
It dates back to when I was a kid. The narrow mattress was welcome back then after a long day on the beach and in the water. I’d finally fall into bed after hours spent outside. I was so exhausted that I didn’t care that the bed was lumpy and the blanket too thin to shield me from the cool air that drifted in through the cracks in the windowpanes.
The windows have been replaced now, but the bed hasn’t.
I laugh as I imagine how far off the end of the small bed my feet will hang.
I drop my gaze when I hear the chime from my phone, signalling an incoming message.
Sinclair: I’m having a drink with someone.
I trust her enough to know that it’s not someone she’s interested in taking to bed.
Another message follows the first, and I smile when I read it.
Sinclair: Before you go all caveman on me, it’s a woman, and it’s for a project.
My reply is instant.
Jameson: The same project that the true gentleman was helping you with?
I take a seat on the corner of the lumpy bed as I wait for her to respond. My gaze wanders to the dozen of seashells sitting on a bookshelf. The entire thing should be shrouded in dust, but it’s not.
I suddenly wonder if the same caretaker who used to oversee the property for Denia still does. I make a mental note to ask my brother about that because that woman was a saint and a joy to be around. Mrs. Frye would bring us a plate of chocolate chip cookies whenever we arrived at the house.
I glance at my phone when Sin’s message comes through.
Sinclair: Yes.
I know she’s being coy for a good reason, but I press for more because it’s what I’ve always done.
Jameson: Give me a hint about who the book is about. I promise I won’t tell anyone.
I wait for the three dots to bounce around as she types a response, but there’s nothing, so I stand and head toward the attached washroom.
Ten minutes later, when I step out of a hot shower, she still hasn’t replied.
Anxiety knots my stomach, but this is her work. She’s sworn to secrecy in a legal sense by an NDA. I know that. She would never break any rule attached to that, but beyond that, morally, she wouldn’t divulge anything about her ghostwriting clients. She’s too good of a person for that.
I walk back into the bedroom for a clean pair of boxer briefs.
Once I slide those on, I pick up my phone to not only give her an out but to put an end to this day.
Jameson: I’m hitting the hay, Sin, or in this case, my tiny bed. Sleep well, sweetheart.
She wastes no time responding this time.
Sinclair: Goodnight. Dream good dreams.
I stare into the vast horizon at the pink-hued sky beyond. The day is dawning over the Atlantic. In a simple ceremony, my brother and I said our final farewells to our grandmother.
I went first as I held onto her urn and scattered some of her ashes in the water. I wept as I remembered the fierceness of her loyalty to her family and the comfort of her hugs.
Holden followed by retelling a few stories from when we were growing up. He was more stoic, but I could see the tears streaming down his face as emotion tainted each of his words.
He’s clutching the urn next to his chest as he walks from the water. The evidence of the soft waves is apparent in the soaked denim of his jeans from the knees down.
Mine are the same.
In some weird twist of fate or our grandmother’s hand from the great beyond, we’re both wearing black T-shirts emblazoned with the Carden Confectioneries’ logo on the front.
We laughed as we made our way from the house to the beach.
Thankfully, no one was in sight because we both know the rules about scattering ashes in the water, but Denia never let a rule stop her, so we were determined to follow through on her final wish.
“She’d be so fucking happy right now.” Holden rakes a hand through his hair. “This is exactly what she wanted, James. We couldn’t have chosen a more perfect day for this.”
I nod. “I agree.”
His eyes latch onto mine. “Let’s leave our past here.”
I point at the sand and the waves lapping at our bare feet. “Right here?”
“Right here,” he concurs with a brisk nod. “When you left, there was a point where I forgot why I hated you.”