Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
6
SMITTY
There was a decent chance Bryson was going to deck me right here, right now. His eyes turned a stormy shade of blue as his fists clenched at his sides. He was in shape for sure, so I bet his left hook would sting. Nah, he didn’t seem the type to resort to violence. He was more likely to talk a subject to death till you called uncle and promised to do whatever the fuck he wanted.
Thing was…I wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet. So, he was just going to have to deal with it.
Here’s what happened:
I’d checked into the Black Horse Inn late last night and made a plan to meet with Riley at Elmwood Rink at noon. He’d given me a tour of the impressive facility and ushered me to his car, intending to extend the tour to the high school. That was where I’d stopped him and explained that I wasn’t in a position to accept a year-long contract.
I’d apologized for giving mixed signals, and spent a good ten minutes or so gushing over how cool the town was and that I was bummed it wouldn’t work out.
Yeah, I’d babbled like a moron. Hey, it was better than admitting my ten-hour drive to Elmwood was fueled by a fierce desire to outrun bad memories. Who knew? If my cousin Tony from California had called before Riley, I might have been halfway across the US on my way to Santa Monica right now.
Logic had played no part in my arrival in Elmwood. None whatsoever. I’d been freewheelin’, making decisions on the fly, and you know, it had felt pretty damn good. Even the part when I’d opened up my big fat mouth and agreed to stay for a couple of months.
A few hours later, it still seemed like a solid plan. It would have been better if Bryson hadn’t greeted me like I was a plague-carrying rodent, but hey, you couldn’t win ’em all.
He raised his brow and gave a humorless half laugh. “A short-term rental?”
“Do you have such a thing in Elmwood? Something close to the high school would be great. A house, though. Not an apartment. I don’t want to share a wall with noisy neighbors.” I pointed at the TV wall and grunted. “That guy snored like a fuckin’ sailor last night. I need to buy earplugs, ASAP. Otherwise, I’m easy.”
Bryson stuck his tongue against the inside of his cheek, shaking his head in disbelief. I thought for sure he was about to tell me to fuck off, but instead he said, “Inventory is low, but I’ll see what I can find. There might be something in Wood Hollow or Fallbrook.”
“Are those street names?”
“No, they’re neighboring towns. Fallbrook is closer, and Pinecrest is only fifteen minutes away. Wood Hollow is a good cost-effective option. But if a logging truck is picking up a delivery or—”
“No, no. It has to be here,” I insisted.
“Right.” He shot an inscrutable look my way and opened the door. “Someone from my office will be in touch.”
“What about you? Are you free tomorrow?” I stepped outside, calling his name when he reached the stairs. I waited for him to turn before adding, “I’ll text you. Maybe we can meet for coffee.”
Bryson didn’t reply or react. He lowered his sunglasses like a boss and hurried down the stairs. I watched him stride across the parking lot to a silver Mercedes, slide into the driver’s seat, buckle his seat belt, and then…bang his head against the steering wheel.
My lips curled on one side. Hey, I wasn’t here to make him miserable, but the fact that I was under his skin, even just a little, was oddly gratifying.
Not to worry, folks. I could be a good boy.
Elmwood was a tiny town. Super small. Like “itty-bitty, jog the circumference in less than forty-five minutes, so little you’d miss it if you blinked” small. But it was charming, too. It had an old-world feel reminiscent of a bygone era with its antique lamplights, picturesque fountains, a town hall, and majestic tree-lined streets.
Main Street was definitely the hub. The bulk of businesses were located along that one road with the exception of the rink, the sports facility, and the Black Horse Inn.
I hiked the mile into the town center early the next morning, admiring the roadside wildflowers and the brilliant blue sky. It was a freaking gorgeous day—a perfect seventy-five degrees, not a cloud in the sky. And the air smelled fresh and almost…soul cleansing. Weird thought, but true. I stood at the corner of Blossom and Main, feeling as if I’d stepped into a postcard.
I glanced over at the log façade of the Elmwood Diner and thought about stopping for breakfast, but I wasn’t sure I had enough time, so I went to the coffee shop to wait for Bryson…assuming he’d show up. I’d sent him a text an hour ago and kept it short and to the point.