Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
But the benefits were . . . spectacular. I was still seeing stars and my muscles felt as though they’d morphed into jelly.
“Be careful,” I said, my eyes sliding toward his finger, now hopelessly tangled in my lock of hair. “It’s like one of those Chinese finger traps. The more you struggle, the tighter it gets.”
He laughed. “Then I guess I’m trapped for good.”
And then he rolled me over, his hand moving with my head so he didn’t pull my hair. I laughed, a surprised outburst, right before his lips came down on mine. Right before he proved he was up for a challenge, and there were lots of things you could do without the benefit of a condom.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Travis
The morning was bright and already warm at eight in the morning, dappled sunlight falling over the porch. The screen door swung shut behind me, as my gaze moved around the railing where several of Haven’s plants sat in pots, their leaves green and lush under her patient care. I smiled. Others would have given up on them. They’d once been barely living, but now, they thrived. I moved toward the swing, ready to sit and wait for Haven, who was still showering, when I spotted a lone figure walking along the dock.
Burt.
I frowned, descending the steps and walking toward the lake. “A blind man walking alone on a dock?” I said, when I’d made it there. “That seems highly inadvisable.”
Burt turned toward my voice. “Good morning, Chief Hale.”
I approached him, careful not to make the dock sway under my movement. “Morning.”
“And a beautiful one it is,” he said.
God, is it. I swore I was walking on air after a night with Haven that I could only describe as mind blowing. “Yes, sir,” I agreed.
“What are you up to this fine day?” he asked.
“I’m taking Haven to an antique fair a few towns over. She’s upstairs getting ready.”
“Ah. Show me to the edge. Let’s sit while you wait for her.”
I led him toward the edge of the dock and helped him navigate where to sit, lowering myself next to him, both of our legs hanging off the side. He sighed, taking in a big breath of air, smiling again.
“You seem happy this morning,” I said. Though in truth, Burt had radiated happiness since I’d met him. I was glad to have arrived at this part of his story. I was glad for him, that he’d arrived here too.
“I found that bird,” he said. “The one who sang just for me.”
Surprised, I turned my head toward him.
“It’s called a prairie warbler and he sang for me again.” His smile grew. “Turns out, he was right outside Betty’s window.” If a black man could blush, he did just that, though his smile didn’t dwindle. In fact, it was so wide, I wondered if his face might split.
“You old charmer,” I said, only mildly surprised. I’d noticed their friendship . . . watched them gravitate toward each other no matter where we all were.
He leaned in conspiratorially. “Tell me, is she beautiful? She feels beautiful.”
I thought about Betty, about her warm smile and her welcoming heart, about how she flitted around the B&B like a bird herself, attending to everyone, making sure each one of us felt important. “She is,” I said. “Honestly, Burt? It’s a good thing you’re blind because otherwise, you’d never have worked up the nerve to make a move.”
Impossibly, his smile widened. “I had the same thought. Damn lucky I went blind; my old self would have fallen over in shock to hear this version of myself say it.” He laughed. “Life sure can change quickly and in unexpected ways. Don’t you agree, Chief?”
“I do, Burt.”
For a few moments we sat in companionable silence, me staring out at the water, Burt staring inward at whatever sights were there.
“Betty used to be a writer,” he said.
“Did she? I didn’t know.”
“It was a long time ago. Stories are her passion.” His expression grew solemn and I cocked my head, curious about where this was going and why he’d brought it up. “But she had an accident and suffered a head injury that causes her to lose words.” He paused for a moment. “You’ve probably noticed it happen. It distresses her. Writing became frustrating and upsetting and so she gave it up, turned her family home into a B&B to support herself . . .” He trailed off, the weight of Betty’s pain obviously a burden he now carried too.
And I suddenly realized something. “She narrates for you,” I said, thinking of all the times I’d watched Betty describe something that was going on so that Burt might picture it, watched the focus and the wonder on his face as he obviously did just that.
“She does.” He smiled. “And she does it so beautifully, and with such detail, it’s almost like, for those moments, my sight has been returned.”