Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Oh, I see. I got a page ahead of you, didn’t I?”
“What?”
“The story we’re in. I read ahead.”
He places a hand on my cheek and looks down at me like I am the illuminating one. “You can read ahead all you want. I don’t mind it a bit. But you don’t need to do everything yourself anymore, Rosie. I’m more than happy to do my share.”
“Sorry.” I giggle a little. “I didn’t mean to steal your thunder, I just felt the need to make it clear that I choose you, Amon Parrish. And there isn’t a chance in hell that I would even consider surrendering to the whims of one Erol Cross. He’s out of his freaking mind if he thinks he can waltz back into my life with puzzles, and threats, and promises of underground cities thinking I will cower or even be impressed. I am not afraid of him, nor am I dazzled. And he will not outshine me in front of my son. I am shining, Amon. I shine. I am bright, and quirky, and a bundle of fun.”
Amon takes a step towards me, closing any and all distance between us. He takes my hands in his and looks me right in the eyes. “You shine so bright you make me dizzy. You’re a force of nature, Rosie Harlow. You are the definition of joy. You exemplify the idea of life lived to its fullest. You are big fancy dresses, and cheap, pink uniforms, and you play every part with your whole heart. And that’s why I love you. And I want you to marry me.”
Without taking his eyes off mine, Amon Parrish slowly lowers himself down onto one knee. And when he looks up at me, he’s shining too. “Marry me. Marry me in the Revival tent for real, Rosie. We’ll have our own day with no tourists, and we’ll have a big sit-down dinner, and you’ll get a dress made special that isn’t a costume, and everyone will come wearing whatever the hell they want, and not a single person in the tent will be acting, or have a script, or—”
I place two fingers on his lips. “You don’t need to convince me. I’m a ‘yes.’”
He stands up, smiling as he lets out a long breath. “OK. Good.” Then he blinks. “But”—he holds up a finger—“I didn’t really come here tonight to propose. You see, I have a way to get Cross back and it’s guaranteed to work.”
“How?”
“Well, let’s go to the Revival tent and then I’ll only have to explain it once.”
“We’re gettin’ married right now?”
He laughs. “We can if you want. But I was kinda set on having our boy there as my best man, so how about we table the wedding and just concentrate on the rescue for now?”
And then he pulls me down the porch steps and we get in the truck.
A couple minutes later we’re standing on the stage inside the tent and the call to Revival is blasting through Disciple. The murmur of people coming out of their houses at dusk rumbles back to us. And then they all start making their way to the tent.
Jim Bob, who lives right across the street in a big ol’ white house, is one of the first to arrive. “Why in the red-hot hell is the call to Revival sounding on a Monday night!” His cheeks are all puffed out with anger and his red and white checkered dinner napkin is still hanging from his collar. Jim Bob is a beast on his best day, but he’s particularly snarly when he’s hungry and we have interrupted his dinner, so to say that he is vexed would be an understatement.
Amon starts talking before Jim Bob can continue his bellowing. “Just hear me out,” he says while pushing the air towards Jim Bob with his palm. “There’s a good reason for this call.” Now he directs his attention to the people who are filing into the tent. “Everyone please take a seat. Rosie and I have something to discuss with y’all.”
And then he starts telling them.
There are one hundred twenty-seven people in Disciple, West Virginia. Sixty-four are male, sixty-three are female, but only eighty-five of that total are over eighteen and only about half of that number are men.
Forty-four grown men, to be exact.
But when you add forty-four to Edge’s sixty ex-soldiers—plus me, Collin, Ryan, and Nash—you get one hundred and eight.
It’s not quite a company, but that’s OK because Collin Creed isn’t quite a captain, either. And anyway, it’s a good-sized platoon, which fits Master Sergeant Creed’s old rank just fine.
When I get done explaining how we’re gonna get Cross back, the whole town starts murmuring. Jim Bob takes over, telling people to calm down and take a seat, and doin’ all his mayor stuff. Which allows me to step aside and let him have his say.