Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
A carton of soy milk rolled over my heated skin helped cool the sudden flush.
It hadn’t been a good idea.
It was downright stupid and I was so rarely stupid.
I made good choices. Rational ones.
I always had.
Because if I didn’t, no one would.
So why had I allowed myself to lose control now? To let down my guard?
I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
Not again.
I practically threw the carton back in the mini-fridge, losing my balance and going down on my knees, the container of blueberries falling out of my hands and spilling onto the floor.
Damn it!
My shoulders dropped and I took a deep breath. Get ahold of yourself, Haven.
Above me, the scrape of at least a couple barstools being pulled out met my ears. Ugh. It wasn’t even time to open yet, and I needed a few more minutes of solitude before it was time to take orders—and to coax my hormones back into submission after pondering Travis’s wet skin and hard…everything.
“Who is he?” a female voice asked, the voice close yet distant as though the person was turned away from the bar.
“Travis Hale,” another female voice said. Travis was here?
My ears perked and I went still, listening, as though two girls had somehow slipped into my brain and we were all having a conversation.
Which would make me insane and I didn’t think I’d quite crossed that particular road. Yet.
“Damn,” the first voice said appreciatively.
“He’s the Pelion chief of police, like his father was many years before him.” She paused for long moments and I pictured them, backs to me, staring across the club to some place Travis Hale stood, perhaps chatting with another member. I envisioned that sure stance of his, the way he tilted his head just slightly when he was listening intently. The way he listened to me as if every word I said was important to him.
“The chief of police? God, he needs his own calendar, every month dedicated just to him. Hale, you said? Don’t they own Pelion?”
“Yup. And even more interestingly, every Hale generation has some scandal or another. The previous one was always wild,” she mused. “Hot as sin and guaranteed to burn you if you got too close. That’s what my mom said anyway. There are stories upon stories about them. Some people on this side of the lake called them trash, despite that their family owned Pelion, because they did whatever they wanted and didn’t seem to care what anyone thought. And then of course, all hell broke loose the minute Alyssa McCree showed up.”
I couldn’t move. I was rooted to the spot, trapped. If I stood now, I’d totally embarrass them in the midst of their gossiping.
At least that’s what I told myself.
It was definitely not because I was hungry to know more about Travis Hale and his family, not because through fate alone I was receiving answers to questions I’d never ask.
“Alyssa McCree?”
“Mm-hmm. She was Archer Hale’s mother. Archer owns the town now. And even though Archer and his wife, Bree, have gotta be rich, they still live in this tiny Lincoln log house, and Archer drives a rusted, old pickup truck that looks like it’s about a hundred years old. And despite his hot factor, Travis was humiliated in front of the entire town eight years ago when everyone found out Archer was the older Hale and Travis had to give up ownership of Pelion. He and his mother lost all their money and social standing.”
My stomach tightened. Travis hadn’t mentioned that part when he’d told me about his brother owning the town. But why would he? It sounded painful. And like none of my business. Obviously it was well-known town fodder though, and a sour taste filled my mouth at the coldhearted way the girl speaking had just summed up the situation I was sure held far more nuance, not to mention real human emotions.
“So,” the girl went on, “Travis is definite calendar material, but blue-collar calendar material. His ex, Phoebe, had plans to get him to run for mayor or governor. She said they’d be political royalty by the time they were thirty-five and live in the Buchanans’ neighborhood. But now that they’ve broken up, I’m doubtful he has those same ambitions. Honestly? I’m surprised they still allow him access to this club. Everyone’s still kind of embarrassed for him. And it’s not like he’s one of us anymore, that’s for sure. Especially without Phoebe. God, where is that weird smoothie girl who looks like she stuck her finger in a socket?”
I dug in my pocket, moving as little as possible as I pulled my earbuds out and stuck them in my ears, dropping the end in my pocket again as if there might be a phone there. I rose quickly and both girls, now turned toward the counter, jumped. I widened my eyes, pulling the earbuds from my ears. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I was stocking and didn’t hear you.”