Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“Is that where we get to stay?”
“It sure is.” I smiled, proud of Beckett, and happy for him.
Not that I’d ever doubted he’d succeed at anything he set his mind to. Beckett was one of the smartest guys I’d ever known—and the best kind of smart guy, the kind who never had to put anyone else down to prove how good he was at something. And he was good at a lot of things. School, sports, being a friend . . . kissing.
Heat crept into my cheeks. I wondered if Beckett ever thought about the one and only time things had gotten romantic between us. We’d never talked about it, not even when I went to see him in Manhattan seven years ago, right after I discovered Sam was cheating on me for the first time.
I was hurt, angry, scared—and six months pregnant with Elliott. Desperate for a friend, I’d turned to the one person I knew I could trust not to judge me for jumping into a marriage with someone I hardly knew. Beckett understood how the sudden death of my mom the year before had affected me, how scared and lost I’d felt.
All my life, my purpose had been to live up to her expectations—then she was gone, and I’d felt completely unmoored. I’d dropped out of medical school at Northwestern and taken a job as a barista, which was how I met Sam, who came into the coffee shop where I worked every morning.
Sam quickly swept me off my feet, offering comfort and stability at a time when I was lonely and lost. He said he was crazy about me and promised me a good life if I’d move back to his hometown outside Cincinnati, where he was about to start working at his father’s practice. He said he wanted a family, and I’d pictured being surrounded by children, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents—all the things I’d grown up longing for. So I’d eloped to Vegas with him and moved to Ohio, but my dreams were quickly shattered.
When I showed up at Beckett’s door, pregnant and miserable, he let me cry on his big, broad shoulder and assured me I didn’t have to stay married to Sam to have a good life. But he understood why I was willing to forgive my husband and try again—I wanted our child to grow up with two parents. Neither Beckett nor I had been so lucky.
I remembered the way he’d slept on the floor while I was there, giving me the sofa bed in his tiny Manhattan studio. Beckett had always been a gentleman.
And after I finally left Sam for good, he’d been my first call.
“Hey, stranger,” I’d said, choking back tears.
“Maddie?”
“How are you, Beckett?”
“Fine. It’s really good to hear from you. How are you doing?”
“I’m good—better than I’ve been in a long time.” I paused and took a breath. “I left Sam.”
“Left him? Like, divorced him?”
“Yes.”
A pause. “It’s about fucking time.”
“I know,” I said, laughing a little in spite of everything.
“Are you really okay, Maddie?”
“Yes, I’m really okay. And listen, I’m sorry it’s been so long since we’ve talked.”
“You don’t owe me an apology.”
“Let me say this, okay? I feel sick about not keeping in better touch.”
“I understood why you couldn’t,” he said quietly.
“I know you did. But I should have realized sooner that Sam didn’t have the right to tell me who I could or couldn’t be friends with.” I sighed. “I wasted a lot of time trying to win someone’s approval who was never going to be satisfied. Story of my life, right?”
He didn’t reply right away. “Where are you now?”
“I’m still in Cincinnati, but I’m actually heading up your way as soon as Elliott—my son—is out of school.”
“You’re moving back to Bellamy Creek?”
“No, it’s just a visit. I’ve got two weeks’ vacation at work and thought it would be nice for Elliott to see where I grew up. But my main goal is to get my mother’s house fixed up to be sold.”
“That could be a big job. The house is in pretty rough shape.”
I frowned. “Yeah, the property manager I used turned out to be worthless. It’s been vacant for nearly a year now, so I’m sure it needs some TLC.”
“Uh, it probably needs more than that.”
My stomach turned over. “Is it that bad?”
“I don’t mean to scare you,” he said quickly. “Maybe it’s just the exterior that needs work. With a fresh coat of paint and some landscaping, it might be perfectly fine.” His tone wasn’t convincing.
“Do you know anyone who might be able to do the work?”
“Yes. Enzo Moretti—you remember Enzo, he graduated with us—is a contractor and does a lot of home renovations. I’m sure he’d be willing to come take a look and give you an estimate on the cost to get it ready to sell. Want me to ask him?”