Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
What if he had one of his moments, and I came home with no idea where he might be or if he was even alive?
“I’m sorry, Grandpa. I’ll stay home and we’ll catch up tonight. I’ll make your favorite, cranberry sugar crumble muffins.”
“Oh, nonsense, girl.” He swats my arm. “I don’t need a damn nurse yet. Besides, you know I’m at my best in the mornings.”
I smile.
It catches me off guard every time he talks about it openly.
I’m the one dancing around it, I guess, dreading the day when mornings won’t be so kind to him anymore.
Maybe I got too used to people treating me that way, like something flawed that could break down any second.
Whispers behind hands, worried glances, long conversations behind closed doors I was never supposed to hear. A thousand things about my illness that never actually involved me.
I meet Grandpa’s twinkling blue eyes.
No wonder we understand each other so well.
I think his gaze softens as the silence stretches between us. Then he catches my hand.
“Tally, I know you’re doing what you’re doing at the big house for me,” he says. “Believe me, I’m grateful. Don’t think I’m not just because I’m clinging to my independence with my fingernails. But I don’t want you leashed to me, either. Do you know how happy it makes me to see you living for yourself?”
My heart hurts so sweetly.
Tightening my hold on his hand, I pull him into a hug, pressing my cheek into the grey and white wisps of his hair.
“They’re not mutually exclusive, Grandpa. I can do both,” I promise. “I can live for me—and do my best for you.”
“I know you can, Tally-girl.”
I nearly choke into a sob.
But I pull back before I let myself get too overwhelmed and take a shaky breath, smiling. “I’d better get moving. I need to change, and I’m due up at the big house soon.”
“Go on, girl. Shoo! Wouldn’t want to keep Mr. Arrendickhead waiting.”
I snort, laughing and darting into the back of the shop, then upstairs. When I step into the bathroom in my bedroom, I’m suddenly grateful Grandpa is so tactful.
I’m human chaos.
Marked from neck to toe with the hickeys.
I hastily wash myself off, dabbing a few spots with a little salve because I know Micah worries about me. After that, I throw on new jeans and a nice turtleneck.
It’s a little more formfitting than anything I’d want to wear around Xavier, but it’s better than letting him see my neck and getting any new bizarre ideas.
This body only belongs to one man.
The strange, possessive thought makes me flustered as I do my makeup.
I’m going for the ‘Oh this? I’m not wearing any makeup at all, I woke up this way’ look—secret: no girl ever wakes up like this.
Last, I grab my folio case before darting out with one last parting kiss for Grandpa.
Yep, I’m limping a tiny bit after all, still feeling Micah with every step. But at least I had the good sense to wear thick-soled boots.
They help soften the walk as I head up the hill with a confidence I don’t deserve.
Or maybe I do.
Even if I loathe Xavier Arrendell, I’m feeling good about the final sketches and samples.
We’ve exchanged several terse emails ironing out the details since the last disaster of a meeting.
While he’s been a little particular like the stuck-up jackwagon he is, I feel like I’ve captured the pulse of what he’s going for.
Hopefully enough for him to sign off on it and start paying.
We’re one signature away from the deposit check and speedrunning our options for Grandpa’s care.
I already have a few good medical centers in Raleigh bookmarked on my phone.
The cognitive treatment will be a long-term thing and might even require visits to specialists out of state, but we can at least get him in for surgery to restore his hands. He’ll be stubborn about missing out on work for recovery time, sure, but hey.
It’s better than losing what he loves.
When I arrive at the Arrendell house, the day feels darker.
I still find a smile for Joseph Peters when he answers the door, swinging one of the big double doors open for me and offering me a polite, almost wary smile.
“Miss Grey,” he says smoothly. His eyes are guarded. “My apologies, however, Mr. Arrendell was pulled into a snap meeting. I’ll be happy to let you into his office to wait. He shouldn’t be long.”
I feel like my ears go up.
Alone in Xavier’s office? Plus, a few minutes to feel Joseph out?
How did I get so lucky?
“That would be great, thanks!” I step into the house, turning to watch him as he shuts the door behind me. I even manage not to stammer.
I might be getting better at this whole spy thing.
“How have you been, Mr. Peters? Is everything okay?”
His brows knit together as he smooths his white gloves, then turns to lead me into the familiar red-carpeted hall to Xavier’s office.