Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
By the time we’ve ordered plywood and nails to be delivered and made a coffee run, I feel as though we just had a speed date. Holding her hand as we drive, while chatting, feels right and the highlight of my day.
The hardware store said they’d deliver our supplies within the hour, so we head back to her house to start cleaning up on all the broken glass. My phone buzzes in my pocket and has been all night and morning. I’m sure after last night’s blowup at dinner, I have my entire family trying to reach out to me. When Sloane runs inside the house for a bathroom break, I bite the bullet and read my messages from last night.
Dad: Come home so we can talk. Your mother is upset.
Gemma: Are you okay?
Tate: Call me!
Callum: I think they call this Karma. Good job, little bro.
Spencer: Dinner and a show! Rex is a fan!
The rest came in this morning.
Tate: Let me at least know you’re alive.
Jude: Tate’s worried about you. Check in or I’ll hunt you down.
Hugo: Do you want to have lunch with me and Aubrey?
Gemma: Mom’s been crying. A lot. I’m worried about you.
Willa: Callum showed me his text. Ignore him. He’s an ass.
Callum: Dad’s freaking out. His baby boy ran away. I bet he wants to call the cops…but, plot twist, you’re banging one. He can’t easily fix this and doesn’t know what to do. Quite amusing if you ask me.
Aubrey: Lunch??? Miss your face.
Dad: Can we please talk, Son?
Then there’s a text from Spencer where he’s holding up Rex’s middle finger and grinning evilly behind his son. That actually makes me laugh.
“Are they blowing up your phone?” Sloane asks when she returns.
“You have no idea.”
I hand her the phone so she can read through them all. She also laughs at the picture of Rex. After handing me my phone back, she leans against me, resting her head on my chest.
“Who knew loving someone could be so difficult,” I say absently, kissing the top of her head. “I thought love was supposed to be easy.”
She pulls back slightly to smile at me. “It’s easy for us. Everyone else is just having a hard time with it.”
I can’t fight the grin that tugs at my lips. Her little slip about her feelings for me gives me hope we’ll make it the long haul.
“Mom is going to have to get over it. I’m not letting you go just to spare her feelings.”
Sloane squeezes me. “Me neither.”
All the challenges we’re facing seem manageable as long as I have this woman in my arms, reciprocating the way I feel. As long as we have each other, we can face them fearlessly together.
Eventually, the hardware store drops off the pre-cut plywood. Sloane hammers while I hold up the wood for each blown-out window. Earlier, while I made breakfast, she went online and made an appointment for a window replacement company to put in new windows this week. Aside from the charred bike in the driveway, we’ve finally managed to get past all the drama from this morning.
“I’ll find someone to haul the bike away,” I tell her as we make it back inside. “It’s trashed and I never had a clean title on it, so it’s not like I can get any money for it.”
“I hate that your bike was a casualty in my war against those stupid biker assholes.”
“Our war,” I remind her. “We’re in this together.”
I’m graced with another beautiful smile that does wonders for soothing my aching heart. I don’t like being at odds with my family, but I don’t see any other way around it. I’m not about to let them dictate who I love. Not happening.
“BLTs for lunch?”
“Do I even have stuff for BLTs?” she tosses back, eyebrow arched.
“I bought real food for your fridge considering all you had were condiments and takeout boxes.” I playfully smack her on the ass. “Told you I was going to take care of you.”
Her cheeks redden and the grin she flashes me is brilliant. “I’m starting to believe you.”
“Good girl.”
“Show me,” Sloane says, poking me in the chest. “You brought it, so show me. As your muse, I demand it.”
Anxiety crawls up my spine, but I try not to let it affect me. If she wants to see all my drawings, then I’ll show her. I just hope she likes them. With a heavy sigh of resignation, I leave her side on the couch to dig my iPad out of my backpack. Once I sit back down, she scoots closer, resting her head on my shoulder.
I open the Procreate app and then hand it to her. Slowly, one by one, she opens each piece to look at the illustrations.
“Wow,” she murmurs. “Your work is so…real. I didn’t have time to truly appreciate it the night of the event. You’re so incredibly talented.”