Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
“Peanut butter and jelly. Salt and pepper.” She sighs. “I was steady ground for her sometimes, I think. And she was a wild rainstorm I got to dance in. But deep down, we were a lot alike. We both wanted to challenge ourselves. To live full, fabulous lives,” she says, giving a soft, contented smile.
Then she sits up straighter, like something suddenly dawns on her.
“It makes me wonder,” she says in a reverent whisper. “I mean, I know it’s probably crazy to even think about something like this, but maybe Claire is . . . watching over us somehow? Maybe she put that list in your hands at the perfect moment? Like she knew how much I needed it right now?”
My jaw clenches tight, but I force myself to nod as casually as possible. “Could be, I guess.” I try not to sound evasive.
And fail.
Because she’s touching on a sore spot, one she has no clue even exists.
Lies—even little lies, white lies, convenient lies … They always come back to bite you in the ass.
Her face goes pensive again. “Do you think Claire would be grossed out that we enjoy banging so much?”
I laugh, glad we’re veering away from the subject of the list. “No, she was a sex fiend. She wanted everyone to get laid. Often.”
“True, but . . . does it ever bother you?” she presses. “That I was so close to her? And now here we are?”
But where are we? I want to ask.
Do you feel this too? Like we’re on the verge of something even closer than what you had with my sister?
Only, I can’t say that. That’s not our deal. And yeah, I have no doubt Claire would want Ruby to get laid, but I can’t ever ask Claire about this. I can’t knock on my sister’s door and tell her I fell in love with her best friend.
Besides, I’m leaving, and Ruby’s staying, and telling her I’m crazy for her wouldn’t be fair.
What’s important is how the list is working its magic.
It’s helping her step away from the past, throwing the doors wide-open to her limitless future, prompting her to take it. Own it.
I can’t mess that up.
Swallowing roughly, I tell her part of the truth. I can do that much for her at least. “No. It doesn’t bother me at all.”
Then, I press my mouth to hers and kiss her, because if I don’t, I’ll use my lips to say all the things I need to keep locked up tight.
After dinner on the dock—grilled fish and baby potatoes that Rachel brings over as a thank-you for her pretzel delivery—we grab sheets from the car and head into the only habitable cabin on this side of the lake. The other three are still standing, but their netted windows are full of holes, and it looks like a family of raccoons has made one of the old bunk beds into their full-time crib.
Ruby hums warily as we mount the steps to our home away from home for two nights.
I glance over my shoulder. She lingers at the edge of the porch, her pillow clutched to her chest, making thinking noises low in her throat.
And I swear, those little grunts make me fall a little more in love with her.
I’m so screwed.
“Everything okay?” I ask, even as a sour voice inside me assures me everything is not okay. Not even a little bit.
“Um . . .” She swallows. “Yeah. But, uh . . . do think being freaked out by the thought of sleeping in the woods is hereditary, possibly? I’m suddenly starting to think my parents might have a point about not closing your eyes for too long in a creepy cabin in the woods.”
I smile what I hope is a comforting smile. “Once we make the bed and get our lanterns set up in there, you’ll be fine. We can even start a fire later. It’ll be cool enough once the sun sets.”
She nods, but she still doesn’t look convinced, though she murmurs, “You’re probably right.”
Inside the cabin, I sort of see her point. The thin layer of dust covering the table in the corner and the two bunk beds on either side of the cabin feel . . . dingier than usual. And the thought of Ruby being forced to tromp over to the outhouse fifty feet away in the middle of the night gives me serious pause. What was perfectly serviceable for roughing it with the guys seems shabby for sharing with my woman.
Not your woman. Get it together, asshole.
I’m so busy reminding myself about the friends-with-bennies boundaries that I forget to warn Ruby that we’ll need to do a dust-and-bug sweep before we make the beds.
By the time I remember, she’s already leaning into a bottom bunk, disturbing a bunch of cicadas which were hanging out in the slats above her head.