Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 212458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1062(@200wpm)___ 850(@250wpm)___ 708(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 212458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1062(@200wpm)___ 850(@250wpm)___ 708(@300wpm)
I’m thinking about calling Skye to tell her how great her bath bombs smell, how soft my skin is after using one and how nice that sugar exfoliant is.
I’ve already scrolled through some online retailers looking at bird houses, bird baths, and other bird accessories for the family of what I now know (since Momma bird came back) are robins living in his back yard.
I should be looking for therapy because what the heck happened to me today? I still don’t know how me, of all people, wound up on a ladder putting a baby bird nest back when I’m deathly afraid of heights and the not insignificant fact that I’m the klutziest klutz that ever klutzed the planet.
Mason was like a superhero, ripping his deck apart with his bare hands to save me. Talk about strong. Talk about relief when he hauled me up as I dangled over my doom.
As I’m drinking the final glass of the honey wine in the bottle Skye sent, I’m thinking about how I might be able to fit all of my shoes on the shoe shelf in Mason’s closet.
I’m thinking dangerously.
And right now I’m doing it in the arms of the hot shifter who can’t get enough of me.
Today has been like a vacation. Other than my near-death experience, of course.
My face feels funny from all the smiling. My tummy feels like I’ve done sit-ups from all the laughing. And strangely, my vagina doesn’t hurt despite that we’ve had sex so many times I’ve lost count.
I fall asleep early, being spooned while a movie plays on the big television on the second-floor loft’s couch. He doesn’t have a television in his bedroom, so I wake up when he carries me to bed, like I’m his bride. Looking at me with affection before holding me close, purring until I fall back asleep.
***
It’s a warm, sunny Sunday and we’re on our way to Drowsy Hollow.
It’s not far away to Mom’s new apartment and though I didn’t get a chance to reminisce when I came to Drowsy Hollow to look for my sister when I got here almost a week ago, I now take the time to do that.
I point out the public school to Mason, as I went there for the first few years of my schooling before we moved a couple hours away to a bigger city for my father’s job.
I have fond memories of it, particularly of the big production they made of Halloween each year. The influence of that on me as a kid is probably why I’ve always celebrated Halloween in a big way.
The town’s annual Halloween party and costume parade happened at the school, and seemed to involve the entire town. And I think I still have a signed copy in storage of the storybook from the local author who wrote a children’s book based on local legend about a cloaked man that used to go on a murdering spree every Halloween to find a new head, which seems like a strange story to terrify little kids with, but I guess that’s where a lot of old stories come from – childrens’ books often contained cautionary tales as the moral – this one clearly that it’s a bad idea to wander the woods after dark.
Mason tells me that not only does he know that story, but it’s based on fact, from two centuries ago, and that the witches assigned to the town are part of that story, that their magic made the annual massacres stop. Now that I’ve seen supernatural things with my own eyes, I find the concept even more bone-chilling.
When we pull up behind Drowsy Hollow Dry Cleaning, Cade and Lorenzo are carrying Mom’s couch toward the back entrance. They’ve both got their ‘guns’ on display, too. Cade is in jeans and a tight t-shirt and Lorenzo has a muscle-hugging Henley on. They’re both in incredible physical shape. Mom looks on from the side, not seeing us straight away, evidently taking in an eyeful of shifter candy.
They disappear inside and Mom snaps out of her sexy shifter stupor and waves. “What are you two doing here?”
“We wanted to help,” I say, approaching. “And check in to make sure you’re okay. Let me see your neck,” I tease.
“That’s so sweet. But it wasn’t necessary.” She flashes her throat. “No neck love buttons.”
Mason snickers from behind me. “That’s my cue to carry some furniture. Hi Kathleen.” He drops a kiss on Mom’s forehead and then goes into the truck.
“Hi Mason. Thank you so much for coming.” She gives him a beaming smile.
Mason passes me with a box in his hands.
“Photo albums?” he asks, eyeing the Sharpie writing on the box. “Any baby pictures of Amie in here?”
“Loads,” Mom says. “She was a beautiful baby.”
“I bet she was,” he says and heads in through the back door.