Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
“The mint Oreo is to die for. Chocolate fudge on the bottom, mint layer with crumbled Oreos mixed in on top. Can’t beat it.”
“She thinks mint shouldn’t exist in candy.”
I look to Crew, and he holds my attention as he says, “She’ll have the s’mores bar, and a chocolate-covered strawberry.”
“Two chocolate-covered strawberries, add a chocolate-covered Twinkie for the grump here, please.” I grin, and Crew turns away before his smile slips free. Not quick enough though. I saw it.
“You got it, honey. I’ll have it ready for you at the register.”
“Thank you.” I slip past Crew, but his arm shoots out, snaking around my middle, halting me there.
“I can show you grump, Sweets.”
“I’d say you already did, not that I’m not used to it.”
“Admit it,” he whispers. “You like me bossy.”
Little tingles spread through my stomach, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. I like you every way, I think, but say, “I don’t hate it.”
“Mm-hmm.” He tips his head, pushing his cheek against mine. “For the record, if I was playin’ daddy… the last thing you’d be playing is daughter.”
My, oh, my, my imagination is a wonderful thing.
He releases me, setting our items on the counter and waits to pay, so I move toward the door, double-checking all the bins on the way to ensure I didn’t miss anything I want to try.
This morning when I made my way into the kitchen, prepared to whip up some waffles, I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of Crew sitting at the table, finishing off what was left in his coffee cup. He grinned, told me to get dressed, because we were going out for the day. Maybe I should have shunned him, played the silent game in response to his growly grab-and-go crap yesterday. But I didn’t.
I’ve never dressed so fast in my life.
Thankfully, my hair is pencil straight, so all it took was a quick swipe of a brush and voilà. It looked like I tried.
I mastered putting on mascara in a moving car when I was fifteen, so that was a non-issue, and an hour later, we were fighting for a parking spot near a giant red barn. On the front, painted in blue, on a giant white sign above the entrance, it read, Nana and Pop’s Sweet Shop.
I might have drooled in anticipation.
Oh, are those fizzes?
“Ready?”
I look over to find Crew at my side, so I link my arm through his, and we walk out the door, but rather than curve left, where his car is parked, we swing right, headed down a short walking path that leads to the harbor.
“Hungry?” Crew asks.
“Starving, but I’m not against a giant block of crispy graham cracker and marshmallowy fudge for breakfast.”
“Yeah, I’d bet not, but it’s noon, so I’m thinking lunch is the better option.”
“I guess,” I tease, shifting to the side to avoid getting run over by a toddler on a tricycle.
Crew pulls his arm free of mine, wrapping it around my lower back instead, and when my eyes flick to his, he only stares a moment, before pointing them forward.
“Thought we’d eat here.” He nods toward an older-looking building. The structure is paneled, a light, sun-faded blue with white trimming. In the middle is a circle with bold red writing and a small fishing boat in the center. Around it is the name of the restaurant.
Rockin’ Baja Coastal Cantina.
“Aw, it’s so cute.” We walk over to the patio seating, lucky enough to score a corner table with an up-close view of the docks.
Busy roaming over boat after boat, I forget to look at the menu, so when the waiter comes up to take our drink order, I’m unprepared, so I steal a glance at the tables around. “Margarita?”
“Traditional or strawberry?”
“Strawberry, please.”
He nods, looking to Crew.
“Water for me.”
The man walks away, and I look to Crew.
“What?”
His lips curve up the slightest bit. “Wondering when you started letting yourself have a drink.”
Guilt washes over me, and I lower my eyes to my lap, but he quickly leans forward, catching my chin with his knuckles.
My brown gaze locks with his.
“You’re an adult. Smart, responsible. No reason you can’t enjoy a drink when you feel like it.”
I shrug, looking away, and slowly, he releases me, but I don’t look at him. “For a long time, I was afraid of drinking, but after a while, the fear turned into this pit of anxiousness every time I was around it or thought about it.” I think of how Crew must have felt as a child, seeing his dad drink himself into oblivion day after day. “Finally, last summer I decided I needed to know how I would handle alcohol, if I’d somehow end up—” I cut off, looking at Crew.
I don’t have to say it. He knows what I mean, he was there when my brother slowly ended his life one bottle of vodka at a time—he was there for it more than any of us were.