Total pages in book: 8
Estimated words: 7568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 38(@200wpm)___ 30(@250wpm)___ 25(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 7568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 38(@200wpm)___ 30(@250wpm)___ 25(@300wpm)
Everyone knows how I feel about her. Our parents, our siblings, pretty much everyone in town. Everyone but her, it seems. It’s the best-kept secret in Windermere. Sure, everyone knows Pastor Dave is sleeping with his secretary or that his wife is too, but this is kept quiet. I think that everyone thought I’d go off to college and forget all about the dark-haired beauty, but they were wrong. If anything, it’s made me want her more. Though indirectly, I saw what was out there and didn’t want any of that. I want the girl who knows me better than I know myself. I watched that girl grow into the most beautiful girl in Decatur County, but it’s like she doesn’t know it or believe it. Even now, it’s not just her beauty that calls to me. She’s still sassy as hell, but she’s passionate. She cares about being charitable and does whatever she can to help anyone in need. She’d give you her last dime if you needed it. She has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the world when she’s talking to you. She must know what she means to me and what her mere presence does to me. How tortured I’ve been for her since I hit puberty.
Ren Porter is mine; she always has been. Rejection isn’t an option because there is no plan b. She’s it for me, always has been.
It’s finally time to claim her.
Chapter Two
Ren Porter
I can’t believe that I’m finally eighteen years old today, I think as I rush out of bed and go to my window, but instead of the post-it note I usually get from an anonymous person, there is a huge bouquet of flowers, all of my favorites, mixed together. Red roses, daisies, pink tulips, and purple dahlia. While this is nice, I want my post-it. I’ve grown used to them and kept them in an old cigar box that used to be my grandfather’s. Moving over to my vanity, I open the box and pull out a random one.
I love when you wear your hair curly. XOXO.
In my head, I imagine it’s the guy across the street. Aaron. My Aaron. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt before, but he doesn’t see me like that. I am just an extension of his little sister, my bestie, Avaline. I’ve tried everything to get him to notice me over the last four years or so, but nothing. I’ve tried every flirty technique I learned in Cosmo, but it’s like he’s immune to them, even from other girls. I even tried fake falling in front of him once; of course, he helped me up and offered to take me to the hospital to see if anything was broken, but I declined.
“Ren?” My mom calls before opening my bedroom door.
“Good morning, Ma,” I say cheerily. While I am depressed that the man I love doesn’t reciprocate the sentiment, I could never be angry with my mother. She’s the kindest, most loving woman I’ve ever met, a close second being Ella Porter.
“Happy birthday, baby!” she shouts, pulling me into her arms.
“Thank you!” I shout back as we jump up and down.
“I made breakfast, and your presents are out on the kitchen table.”
“I’ll just get dressed and be right down,” I tell her.
“Don’t be long. Your pancakes will get cold.”
“I won’t,” I promise her.
I get dressed quickly in my best jeans and a Windermere High t-shirt since it’s Friday. This is the first Friday I didn’t wear my cheerleading uniform in four years. I had to turn mine back in yesterday. I can’t believe I cried like I did. It’s the end of an era, but I’m excited about what comes next. Whatever that may be. I tie my Nike’s and bound down the stairs into the kitchen. My mom has a huge spread out like she’s expecting company, but in the end, it’s just my parents and my brother, Beckett. He lives in Tallahassee, but he’d never turn down free food, which explains the amount.
“Happy birthday, little one,” my dad says, pulling me into a big bear hug,”
“Thank you, daddy,” I say, barely able to breathe, but I wouldn’t give up these hugs for anything.
“Kerenza! Happy birthday,” Beckett says, pulling me into the same bear hug my dad does.
“Ugh. You know I hate that name, Beck,” I groan. “But thank you.” My mother named me after the heroine in a romance novel she read the night before giving birth to me. I have never liked it, so Ren was settled on pretty quickly when I stubbornly refused to answer people in daycare.
“But it’s your name,” he chuckles.
“Ugh. Thanks, Ma.”
“I love the name. You should read the book now that you are old enough,” she says, gesturing for me to sit down.