Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
“That sounds like a white lie, Renee.” The scolding is evident in my tone and Bridget glances up at me. I plaster on a wide smile and reach down, letting my sleep shirt ride up so I can snag a stray block and toss it onto her pile.
“I’m going on this date and I’m going to tell him.”
“Okay, okay,” Renee says, giving up the fight. “Tell him. But wait until you’re back on land to tell him. Just in case he really is a serial killer ... a rather handsome and seemingly sweet serial killer who makes cute babies.”
Brody
“I wish your grandfather taught me how to do that,” Griffin calls out and his voice is almost lost in the salty breeze as I tie the rope.
He’s already one beer deep, lying back on the deck chair and soaking up the sun. Not that I’m not getting sun myself. It’s too hot for my shirt so I’m only in my board shorts as I get the rig ready to set sail.
“Yeah right. Like you’d be helping and not doing exactly what you’re doing now.” My joking response gets a laugh from him. Being out here this early has reminded me of one thing: I love sailing; I love this boat too. If Sam is serious about selling it, I may buy it from him.
My grandfather would have loved it. When he passed four years ago, I thought he might leave me his boat. He did, but he left a lot more than just that.
I had all the money a twentysomething could need to start up whatever company I wanted or sail around the world for a year traveling. That didn’t do a damn thing to help me get over it, though.
His passing was sudden and unexpected. It’s something I may have come to terms with now, but I’ll never “get over it.”
I kept his handwritten note to me from the will in my pocket for years and barely touched the money. It took me a while to get back on a boat again, but I couldn’t bring myself to sail it. It’s his and he’s the one who should be sailing it. Maybe I’ll bring it down here. So many maybes are sounding off in my head recently.
“Any update on the permits?” I ask Griffin as I step down from the deck to meet him for a beer.
“Not yet.” His answer is accompanied with the pop of a bottle cap and then it clinks, the thin metal hitting a bucket to the left of Griffin’s cooler. Two meetings now have been canceled and pushed back. We just need the meeting to actually happen. Politics are frustrating the hell out of me.
“All right,” I say and it’s all I can answer, not knowing how long these things usually take. It’s the weekend, and I’m certain there isn’t a bureaucrat willing to work on the weekend when they could be out on the water. Although for a new bar and a decent beer you would think they might sign a paper or two. A huff of a laugh leaves me. “We’ll get it soon enough.”
Taking a sip, I look out to the horizon, trying to ignore the anxiousness of getting the bar up and running. I can already see Magnolia walking through the front doors, her blue eyes widening as she takes in the place.
With an asymmetric smile curling up my lips, I nod again at Griffin when he agrees, “Soon. It’ll all go through soon.”
My gaze follows the shades of pink that blend seamlessly into the early morning horizon. It’s time to set sail, as my grandfather would say. I swear, every time we went out, he’d announce it just before pulling up the anchor. That’s one memory of him I’ll always have.
“Well, good morning,” Griffin calls out behind me, bringing me back to the present. With his beer lifted in salute, I turn to see Magnolia, a slight blush in her cheeks.
The dress she’s wearing over a simple white bathing suit that hugs her curves delectably, is nearly sheer. It’s only a cover-up with a dark blue paisley design and the color matches both the flip-flops she wears and the rim of the sunglasses propped up on her head, pushing back her beautiful blond locks. Her wavy blond hair sways as she comes close to the boat on the dock.
It takes a subtle kick from Griffin to get me moving to help her board.
“Twenty footer?” Magnolia asks casually, slipping her glasses down and pushing her hair out of her face. A white straw sun hat is in her right hand with a purse in her left, but she’s quick to slip that to her elbow so she has a spare hand.
“Twenty-two,” I tell her and hold out my hand for her to take. The second her soft hand reaches mine, heat travels through me. Small sparks ignite and judging by how quick she is to board and let go, and how her bottom lip drops before a simper appears on her beautiful expression, she felt it too.