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)
“Tell me everything. How’s the team working out? Are you ready for the season opener?” I asked, cracking eggs in a bowl while the coffee brewed.
“Dad, we talk almost every day. You know all about my life.”
“Well, not everything.” I hit him with a barrage of “dad” questions regarding roommates and coaches as I mixed the batter. I pushed the bowl aside to pour coffee, and added one more. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“No, I haven’t exactly had any time.” Jake thanked me for the coffee and gestured to my cell. “Your phone is buzzing. Want me to get it?”
My hands were full, the skillet was hot, and I had a meeting with the town council in Wood Hollow regarding the new construction site. Any other day, I wouldn’t have hesitated to have Jake check my messages for me. I’d never had anything to hide. Except…now I did.
I picked up my cell, read the message, and slipped my phone into my pocket, then resumed pancake-making duty, which would ideally give me time to wipe the stupid smile off my face.
“That was Smitty. He’ll be over soon.”
Jake groaned. “Ugh! Why now?”
“He has time, and that’s perfect since I have to get to the office soon.” I gave him my best parental no-nonsense look. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you to be civil and friendly. You’re not on the ice. Drop the ‘Smitty is my enemy’ act.”
“Act? It’s not an act. That guy is a jerk,” he huffed. “He used to make these clucking noises on the ice before he got in your dish. Like a demented bird or something. And his trash talk was either straight-up dumb or a direct bullet to the head. Smitty once told Anders that he knew he jacked off to Ariana Grande in the showers. Dumb, right? But probably true ’cause Anders got shifty-eyed and weird. Turns out he’s a big Ariana fan. Whatever your weakness might be, Smitty would find it and dig, dig, dig till you’re so pissed you lose focus.”
I pursed my lips to hide a smile as I flipped pancakes. “Hmm. What did he say that made you so mad you punched him?”
Jake frowned. “Not important. It’s just bad enough that he lives on our street. Oh, joy.”
I set a stack of pancakes in front of Jake, barely resisting the urge to ruffle his hair. “Well, he’s a nice guy and a good coach. Need I remind you that you’ll be spending some time together at the high school?”
Yikes, I sounded like such a dad, and Jake slumping on his stool in resigned dejection was so…like a teenager. We had our roles down pat, I mused as the doorbell chimed.
Smitty showed up with a toolbox and greeted us both with a friendly smile. “Wow, it smells amazing in here.”
“Pancakes…and don’t ask, you can’t have any,” Jake grumbled around an obnoxiously large bite.
I pinched Jake’s arm. “Of course, you can. Are you hungry? I’m sure my son would be happy to make you a plate after he shows you the problem toilet. I’m sorry, but I have to finish getting ready for work. I have a meeting and—”
Smitty waved me off. “No worries. Do your thing. I’ll get in and out as soon as possible.”
He winked.
Yep, that was full-on sexual innuendo. And I was blushing. Thankfully, Jake’s face was buried in his pancakes, but I shook my head in warning anyway and hurried upstairs.
I heard raised voices as I fussed with my tie in my closet and opened my bedroom door, prepared to jump into the fray if necessary. They were grown adults who were going to run into each other everywhere in a town as small as Elmwood. Jake was going to have to get over his animosity, and Smitty was going to have to do his part to charm him. I didn’t need to referee.
Or did I?
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Who’s your butcher? Your toilet is running to get the hell outta here,” Smitty quipped.
“Very fucking funny.”
Okay…off to a good start. I brushed my teeth, then cracked the door open while I put my shoes and socks on, and listened some more.
“…tighten the nut,” Smitty was saying.
“That sounds nasty,” Jake commented.
“Oh, a comedian. Since you’re breathing over my shoulder, grab that wrench for me, please. That’s not a wrench. Try again.” Grumble, grumble, grumble. “Nope, that’s not a wrench either.”
“There’s no wrench in this box.”
“There is a wrench. I put it there myself,” Smitty singsonged testily.
“Eyesight is one of the first things to go with old age. You’re…forty-nine now? Is this it?”
“Fifth time is a charm. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Look at you being friendly,” Smitty teased.
“I’m being civil, not friendly. I’m still wondering why you live in my town…on my street.”
“Fate smiled upon you.”
“More like bad luck,” Jake huffed. “You know I’m from here and that I have friends here, right?”