Total pages in book: 165
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
He laughs, glancing to Army and then back to me. “She doesn’t come with goats or land or anything. We’re poor people, Clay. I mean, you could probably get us to pay you to take her off our hands.”
Army chuckles, and I cock a brow, losing my patience. “Macon…”
“I don’t know, we might be able to stuff her arms with six packs of Bud or something,” he offers as her dowry. “Would that do?”
Army cackles louder.
Asshole! I tense up. “Would you shut up?” I bark at Macon. “This was supposed to be a beautiful moment, dammit.”
I mean, excuse me for living. He’s a southern man. I thought the gesture of asking for his sister’s hand in marriage would be appreciated.
Fuck it. I’ll just take her, then. “Are you going to create a stink if I marry your sister?” I growl.
He and Army finish laughing at the irony of an independent woman like myself, a successful business owner, asking for a man’s permission for anything.
He calms down, sets down his tool, and walks around the Bronco to me. A thoughtfulness hits his eyes. “Be good to her?”
I square my shoulders.
“Be faithful and supportive,” he tells me. “It was the only thing my father could do for my mother. It kept her alive.”
I drop my eyes for a moment, knowing the mental illness that killed Trysta Jaeger years before she actually died. One of the hardest things to learn with my brother was that you couldn’t always take away the pain of those you loved. Just be there.
“At the end of the day, that trust is all you need,” Macon says.
I nod, a little surprised by the tears in my eyes.
He turns and heads back to the car. “If you fail her,” he calls over his shoulder. “I feed you to the gators.”
Army laughs, but I don’t as I leave the garage and grip the ring in my pocket.
Macon doesn’t make idle threats.
Macon sucks.
I’m cooking tonight. She doesn’t know, so I hope she doesn’t have anything planned, but I’m sure she doesn’t. She’s been so busy at work, and it’s kind of a double-edged sword to know what to think or feel when a funeral home is busy.
I mean, yeah, she’s able to support us as I wait for royalty checks from indie films and invest everything else I have in my first theater production at a playhouse in Miami next summer, but it also means people suffered, losing loved ones. I’m glad she’s doing well, though. The community trusts her, and Wind House has done well, taking her on as a partner.
I round the corner of the small market, searching for that wine she likes, but I see Mr. Collins standing in front of some canned goods, and I stop.
I take a step back, debating on trying to escape before he sees me.
But he twists his mouth to the side, looking unsure, and I don’t leave.
We get along and all, but we’re not usually alone together, either. Clay is better with the small talk.
“You look lost,” I say.
He jerks his eyes over to me, and then he chuckles, kind of laughing at himself. “I’m cooking dinner tonight,” he says. “For someone.” He looks back at his choices and then shakes his head. “I should just order takeout and act like I cooked it.”
Cooking for someone. Same as me.
I move to his side. “How about a…charcuterie board.” I reach over to the cheeses in the oblong cooler behind him, pulling a wedge of brie, some aged cheddar, and smoked gouda. “It’s easy and it looks really cultured and fancy, so I think you’ll pass with it. You can eat it outside or in front of a fire…”
He smiles and takes the stuff. “Anything low on carbs,” he murmurs his approval.
Yeah.
I pull him over to the produce, grabbing some crackers and French bread on the way. “Some tomatoes, grapes, cherries...” I dump the stuff into his basket. “Hit the deli and pick up some meats, and then some wine, and you should be good.”
He stares at his loot, looking impressed.
“It’s a really easy way to look like you know what you’re doing, and no cooking involved,” I tell him.
“Thanks.” But then a worried look crosses his face, and he looks around. “Oh, I need a board, right? I don’t have one.”
“Gigi does.”
His gaze darts to mine, and I swear he looks like it was some big secret, and no one knew he’s been dating his ex-wife.
Speechless for a moment, he finally just breathes out a laugh. “We were trying to keep it on the down-low,” he says. “Does Clay know?”
“Everyone knows.”
He rolls his eyes. “Awesome.”
And I laugh. I can understand. The divorce was hard on them. Clay saw the home her brother grew up in become unrecognizable.
But it wasn’t solely Mr. Collins’s fault either. Loss, abandonment, cheating…a lot of things happened to break up their marriage, but it didn’t break up their family. Gigi sold the house, bought a lovely cottage on the beach, and found herself. Clay’s closer to her parents apart than she was when they were together.