Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
“And if you were even just friends with her, she couldn’t be mean.” June put her hands in her lap. “Which means if Mom met her, talked to her, then she’d see that I could be just like her.” She sighed wistfully, turning those big brown eyes on me like the little weapons they were. “Have you ever seen her dance? She’s so beautiful, and graceful, and is one of the youngest principal dancers in her company’s history. She’s . . . flawless.”
She was all that and more. Allie was born for the stage. Hell, she’d been bred for it.
I had to get a grip on this conversation and nip it in the bud. “Look, June. I don’t know what Uncle Gavin told you, but—”
“Don’t deny it!” She slid off the stool, reached into the back pocket of her jeans, and slapped her hand on the counter, leaving behind a picture.
I glanced at the Polaroid, and the knife in my chest sliced me clean open. It had been years since I’d laid eyes on the picture of Allie and me outside the Haven Cove Classic, my arm around her shoulders, her arms holding the grocery-store bouquet of roses I’d bought on the way to the competition. Ten years later I could recall every single detail of the moment we’d stolen while Lina distracted Mrs. Rousseau so Gavin could snap the picture.
It was the false high in our story, the moment I truly thought anything was possible between us, only for the entire world to crumble beneath our feet a few short hours later.
“You went through my boxes in the attic.” It wasn’t a question.
She pushed the picture toward me. “They were just sitting there. I mean, you’ve been back for years and it’s not like you took them to your house.” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes lowered. “I went through your boxes,” she whispered.
“That would be like me reading your journal. It’s a violation of privacy.” What else had she found?
“I know.” She took what appeared to be a fortifying breath and looked up. “And I’m sorry. Kind of.”
“Kind of?” My eyebrows flew.
“Come on, Uncle Hudson!” She pushed the picture to the edge of the counter, but I didn’t touch the damned thing. “You obviously dated one of the most famous dancers in the world! We can go over to her house and get her to talk to Mom—”
I put my finger up. “One, I did not date her.” She’d been my best friend, and that had made my actions even more unforgivable. “Two, just because the Rousseaus have a summerhouse here doesn’t mean she’s actually in town. And three—trust me when I say this—I am the last person in the world she would ever want to see.” The usual weight of guilt I carried when it came to Allie swelled until I was certain it would crush my lungs.
“She’s been here for a whole week already!” June hopped off the barstool and snatched my keys from the counter. “She was injured in January and came here to recover.”
My eyes widened. She’d been here for a week? “And how would you know that?” Wait, from January?
“Seconds.” Juniper stared at me like I was an idiot. “She has an account with her sister.”
“You have Seconds?” My voice lowered and my eyes narrowed. “I thought there was an age restriction for that!”
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “I had to scroll a whopping three more years to create a log-in.”
I blinked. This moment right here was why I was nowhere near equipped to be a parent. Fuck, as soon as Caroline found out about any of this, I was going to have my uncle privileges revoked.
“Let’s go,” June urged. “It’s what? A five-minute drive?”
“Four,” I muttered. There was zero chance I was showing up on Allie’s doorstep.
“Even better!” Juniper thrust my keys at me.
I shook my head and said the word I’d sworn I never would after Sean died. “No.”
“You pinkie promised!” She shook the keys and stared up at me with a determined purse of her lips and a plea in her eyes. “You said you’d never break a pinkie promise.”
Fuck my life.
Pinkie promises outweighed my own discomfort.
I held up my finger. “On one condition. If she isn’t there, you put that picture back where you found it and we never speak of this again.” Please God, don’t let her be there.
“Deal.” She grabbed her backpack off the hook and nodded.
Shit. What about—“Did Seconds happen to tell you exactly which of the Rousseaus are here?” If it was her mom . . .
“Just Anne and Alessandra.” She swung her backpack over her shoulders. “Why?”
If she knew Anne’s name, she’d done her research.
Was I really about to throw away ten years of self-control? Face down the biggest regret I had in my entire life? Juniper looked up at me with all the expectation and trust she had in her little body. Yeah. For June, I would. “Let’s get this over with.”