Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
I look at Kelley, whose blue eyes reflect agreement with my other best friend.
Defeated, I say, “Do you know how upset she’s going to be when I tell her to stop coming over? How the hell am I supposed to do that to her?”
“That part sucks,” Kelley agrees. “I hate to think of her being upset. She’s a sweetheart. But I don’t think there’s an easy way to do it.”
Mikey’s head bobs up and down. “You gotta just do it, Fox. Tell her you’re moving.”
“She practically lives in my backyard, you idiot. She’ll see me.”
He shrugs. “Just make something up. She’s a kid. She’ll believe you. Kids are resilient. She’ll probably forget about you in a week.”
A heavy weight presses down on my chest. Penny is smarter than most kids. But she also knows me. She’s not going to believe some BS reason, and I don’t think she’s just going to forget about me, either.
Kelley rises and stretches. “C’mon. Let’s go to the diner. The special tonight is maple-bacon, double cheddar burger on a toasted bun with curly fries.” He slaps my back with a grin when I stand. “Food fixes everything, right?”
If only life were that easy.
Chapter 10
ALEX
The burger did not, in fact, fix anything.
But it did keep me awake all night with wicked heartburn.
Or maybe my chest was hurting because I replayed the conversation with Kelley and Mikey a million times, trying to find ways to deny everything they said and coming up empty.
My friends planted a seed of doubt in my brain, and it was slowly sprouting, making me feel guilty. What once felt like a totally innocent friendship with a kid who fascinated me—with all her unique little quirks and talents—now felt unhealthy for both of us.
Exhausted and grumpy, I wait on the porch with Cherry for Penny to show up. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to just text her not to come over and just keep repeating it until she finally gives up and stops coming over. Or I could just text her mother and tell her I don’t want her daughter coming by anymore. That’d be a hell of a lot easier than having to do it to her face. That would make me a coward, though, and Penny deserves better than that.
Cherry’s ears perk up, and she leaps down the porch steps, disappearing around the side of the house where I know Penny is coming up the path. It’s their little ritual. Reluctantly, I do the same, meeting Penny and my dog by the old willow tree near the shed.
“Hi Alex!” She’s all smiles like she is every time she comes here. “I wrote you a poem last night.” A piece of parchment paper is thrust at me. Forcing myself to smile, I take it from her and fold it into a small square.
“Thanks.” I shove it into my back pocket. “I’ll read it tonight.”
“You can read it now if you want. I think it’s my favorite. The words just came to me in the middle of the night. That only happens sometimes when something’s really meaningful. Maybe because I was upset yesterday. I’m not upset anymore, though.”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
She looks up at me expectantly from under the rim of the floppy beach hat her mom makes her wear to avoid sunburn. Her eyes are still bright with excitement over the poem. I feel like I might be sick, and I don’t even know why. I keep telling myself she’s just a lonely little kid who sits in my studio and keeps me company while I work. She’s not my responsibility. We share a mutual love of art. That’s it.
But then, why is there a little voice in my head telling me that’s not all it is?
I clear my throat. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I really appreciate all the help you’ve given me with my projects.”
Her smiling continues, and so does the dread snaking through me.
“I love making stuff with you, Alex. I want to be an artist like you when I’m older.”
“I think you’re going to be amazing at anything you want to do.”
“Thank you.”
“But…” I inhale a deep breath and slowly exhale. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come here anymore.”
Her smile slowly fades, much the way night comes—in tiny increments, until suddenly, daylight is gone and there’s only darkness.
She blinks rapidly. “What do you mean?”
I shove my hands in my front pockets. “I don’t think we should spend time together anymore.”
The quiver of her lip nearly rips my heart out. “But why? What did I do?” Swallowing hard, she casts her gaze to the house, then to the barn. I can almost see the memories playing in her mind. Finally, her attention travels back to me. “Whatever I did, I can fix it. I can—”