Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“I know. Second, my tire pressure is low, so I figured I’d check it on my way to Lucky Falls.” I head for the tire pressure machine, figuring this is the moment to drop the news. I say breezily, “Also, you were right. Steven was an oily businessman who I can’t trust. ’Kay? Can you drop a coin in there for me?”
A pause. A grumble. “So that’s why I’m watching the cat for the next couple weeks.”
“Well, that and you love her.”
He turns to the car, a small smile for Frances tipping his lips. “She’s good people,” he says, then looks back at me, muttering, “But your ex? He’s a jerk. Love is the worst. And so are men today.”
“You do have a son.”
“And Griffin knows better than to treat anyone like that,” he says, moving me aside and swiping a card on a key ring into the tire pressure machine. “I’ll do it.”
“I can do it.”
“But I want to.”
As he fills the tires with air, he reminds me that his tow truck business never once abandoned him like Mom did us, returning only twice—once for a summer vacation when I was twelve and probably needed her most, but she was mostly busy taking painting classes in the city that week anyway, then again a few years later when she was just stopping by in the area while on her travels—whatever that meant. He reminds me that the garage is faithful. That his business is reliable.
“You hear me, kiddo?”
“Loud and clear,” I say.
“Good. Now gimme my grandcat. I bought her some tuna and a new feather toy,” he says.
I grab the carrier, scratch her chin through the grates, then thank him and head on my way.
Damn, I could kiss Kailani. As I wend my little car down the long gravel driveway toward the cottage in nearby Lucky Falls, I open the window, inhaling the heady smell of vanilla.
“This is the real karma, Donut,” I tell my girl.
She peers out the backseat window at the yard. It’s late January in Napa Valley, so it’s peak mustard flower season, and the yard is a carpet of bright yellow blooms that smell a little like heaven.
In addition to the main cottage, there’s a tiny house on the property, and a cute little garage with a basketball net hanging over it. I press the button to open the door, drive the car inside and cut the engine, then I free my pup before she jumps too many times. Her long snout must go haywire because, in seconds, she’s tugging on the leash to check out the flowers. “Let’s go inside first,” I tell her.
She whimpers her displeasure and since I’m a sucker for her, I let her explore the yard and turn flowers into fire hydrants.
I take a few more unhurried minutes to wander with her, before we head into the white cottage. As I step inside, the warm embrace of the cozy space envelops me. A line of tall, arched windows extends across the back wall, showing off the soft rolling hills of the Wine Country town.
The sun streams in through the panes, painting the room in golden late-afternoon hues, and I let out a contented sigh. The scent of lilac from the dish towels—must be the laundry detergent—mingles with the heady smell from the mustard flowers floating inside.
The open floor plan of the cottage is perfect for my temporary two-week home, with the living room, kitchen, and dining area all sprawled across the main level. A plush blue velvet sofa faces a fireplace I won’t need.
Down the hall, I find two bedrooms and above me is a small open loft with a futon. “Hey, you get your own room,” I say to Donut, showing her the bedrooms. “Just kidding. You can sleep with me.”
She trots gamely by my feet as we return to the kitchen where I slide open glass doors to a wraparound deck. Well, that’s nice. Kailani didn’t tell me there was a hot tub here, but I’m not complaining.
Another reason I’m not complaining?
I can wake up early, shoot some Flow and Flex videos on the deck at sunrise, and create my new series of Seven Days at Sunrise to Lower Your Stress for the app. I’ve got some other video classes planned too. Balance for a Bad Day, Stretching for When Work Sucks, Pilates for When Everyone Pisses You Off.
Heck, maybe I’ll even do yoga for better sex, for intimacy, for romance.
That’s something Steven thought was a terrible idea. People would rather have sex than do yoga for sex. Now c’mon, babe, lemme show you how my cock can do the tree pose.
But what did he know? He’d sooner find Cleopatra’s tomb than the female orgasm. I almost feel sorry for Madison.
Almost.
About a week later, I’m somehow both exhausted and rejuvenated. I’ve been driving up and down to the city daily, with Donut coming to most classes with me at the Sea Dogs. The strength and conditioning coach is a dog lover, so I’m lucky that Nova lets Donut join me at the arena.