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)
But McBooms only stays open ’till six, and it’s my duty as manager to shut it all down when closing time comes around.
So here I am. At home alone.
There is not a damn thing about Lowyn’s home that’s cold or uninviting. And that helps. A lot, actually. But even though I love this house, it’s not my house. Even if I bought this house from Lowyn, it would always be her house. So all the warm and welcoming things she’s collected and displayed to maximize a sense of comfortable coziness when I walk through the door only helps so much.
Glancing up at the clock, I set my big purse down on the countertop, put on an apron, and immediately start making dinner.
At seven-thirty on the dot, my son shows up all bright-eyed and bursting with stories of what he and his friends did all day. He’s a handsome boy, just like his father was. In fact, he looks a lot like his father. He was always lanky as a child, but his shoulders are gettin’ broader and his arms are getting wider now. He’s got my eyes and my smile, which looks good on him and makes him appear friendly—most of the time.
We sit across from each other at the table and I genuinely pay attention as he tells me about the woods, and the waterfall, and the girls—he is not into girls yet, but he’s going to the junior high next year and so that’s all part of it.
I eat it up. I can’t get enough of my son.
But this dinnertime conversation is pretty much all we have these days. All he wants to do is be with his friends and think about growing up. And as soon as he’s done eating, he puts his plate in the sink and then goes into the living room to play video games.
He’s my life. He is my whole purpose. And I don’t want to belittle the life I’ve built after getting pregnant at fifteen and fighting my way through everything that came with it. It’s a good life for a woman of twenty-eight.
But children grow up. He’s growin’ up.
And I’m just not ready for it.
I want to hold on to him for as long as I can.
Still, there’s just not much left of those days to cling to and I’m struggling to get a grip on my changing role as a mother of a soon-to-be teenager. I can’t seem to hold his attention anymore. I’m just… Mom. And we don’t have much in common. I don’t play video games and he doesn’t collect eighteenth-century dresses. Hell, I’m not even sure he knows I own those dresses. We’ve definitely never talked about them at dinner, so he might not.
So how do I keep this conversation going? How do I get his attention?
Then I remember the dot-to-dot that came in the mail. While it’s really not that exciting, at least it’s something for us to talk about. So I take it out of my purse and flop down on the couch where Cross is playing his video game.
He grunts at me, probably because I messed up his move. But then he pauses his game and side-eyes me, whining his words out. “What do you want?”
“Look.” I thrust the envelope at him.
“What is it?”
“Open it and look.”
So he does, but he’s not impressed. “A dot-to-dot worksheet? What am I, four?”
“Did you even look at it? It’s not a simple dot-to-dot. It’s a code.”
His face twists a little. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s not numbers, it’s letters. And it’s in different languages.”
Apparently, this is just enough information to be intriguing because Cross takes a second look at the worksheet. But it’s truly just a cursory glance because he puts it down and starts playing his game again. “Cool. Maybe I’ll look at it later.”
I sigh. Then get up and start cleaning up the kitchen.
A couple hours later after dinner is over, the dishes have been done, and Cross has gone to bed in the very bedroom that Collin Creed spent his entire childhood in, I go upstairs to my bedroom too.
I’m not much of a sleeper. It’s a rare thing if my lights are out before midnight. So while I do get in bed, I don’t wind down. I pull my Lonely Hearts notebook out of the nightstand drawer and start thinking up new personal ads for next week’s issue.
My pen knows just what to write because I do this every night.
Desperately seeking… somebody.
I’m driving the highway loop en route to meet up with my sisters and there’s a little bit of traffic when I hit Disciple because tourists always show up on Friday nights, even though there’s no Revival until tomorrow.
Everything comes to a stop and I find myself sitting still in my truck right just down the hill from Collin’s house. Which is Lowyn’s house. Which is actually Rosie’s house now, and when I glance up, there she is. Coming down her walkway all dressed up in a Revival costume. Which, in this case, is a 1920’s era flapper dress. Her long brown hair—which she likes to wear straight most of the time—is piled up on top of her head in one of those messy, sexy updos.