Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I guess that’s why I like it so much. If there’s one thing my dark red hair and green eyes have taught me, it is to embrace my Irish roots and dig in when I feel like it’s worth it—and to me, Whitefish definitely is.
I live in a quiet part of Whitefish, on the outskirts of the actual town. It’s a nice gated community, which might be stupid, but it makes me feel safer somehow—never mind the guard is old enough to be my grandfather. I live in an attached duplex. The whole community is a series of duplexes actually. Though there’s only six homes in total—making three buildings. There’s some empty land that I assume the owner was going to build on. But considering two of the units are up for sale now, I don’t see him doing that soon. My unit is nice. The downstairs consists of a living room, a laundry room and bathroom. Upstairs there are two bedrooms and yeah, they’re a little small but, I’m the only one that lives here, so, it’s not an issue. There is also a huge kitchen upstairs and my deck comes off of it and faces a beautiful mountain line that I love. The deck also includes a door to my bedroom and is probably the entire reason I bought the place and decided to put down roots here. I don’t regret it—not even a little. Moments like this one, is exactly why I did.
I close my eyes as I take a drink of hot chocolate and cross my feet at the ankles. I open them back up and look at my warm, woolen off white socks with red and blue snowflakes printed on them. They’re warm and toasty and one of my first purchases at the Whitefish General Store. I bought them right before I asked the owner for a job. For some reason he hired me on the spot and was a big reason that I searched out a home to buy. I was tired of running, tired of moving and I needed a place to call my own.
The thought reminds me however that I don’t have time to enjoy the morning air as long as I usually do. I look at my watch and frown, getting up. I have to be at work in the next hour. The snow is only on the ridgeline, but that doesn’t mean ski traffic won’t be picking up soon. That’s probably the only drawback to Whitefish. I get up and go through the motions of getting ready, making sure the doors to the deck are locked and all of the windows are locked. I freshen up and fix my hair, frowning when I look in the mirror. I’ve been here for six months and you would think in that time that some of the black lines under my eyes would have disappeared.
I wonder if they ever will.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the towels draped on the towel bar are not straight. I fix them back on reflex, making sure all the lines are straight and that nothing is off kilter. I hate myself as I do it, but some lessons are engrained too deeply to leave you.
I walk down the stairs and to my front door without thinking—it’s just become my normal routine. I’m locking my front door when I hear a truck pull into the garage attached to mine. I frown. I was told that side of the duplex was owned, but as long as I’ve been here the owner has never shown up. I frown because from the looks of it the person is here to stay. He’s driving an old Ford truck and the bed is packed full of crap and it’s pulling a box trailer. Hopefully it’s a nice family.
I walk toward my garage, pasting a smile on my face. A guy gets out of the driver’s side and I take a step back despite having my lane of the garage and his truck between us. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. His face looks like it was lovingly chiseled from stone by a master. He has long dirty blonde hair, pulled up tight on his head with bright streaks in it that you can tell was put there by the sun, not a hairdresser. He’s tall and lanky, but at the same time he’s got broad shoulders that pull his white t-shirt tight in a way that you can see his muscles, despite the flannel long sleeved shirt he’s wearing over it. He’s beautiful. That’s not what makes me relax and feel more comfortable around him, however. That would be the small little dynamo that stumbles out of the passenger side of the truck.
He’s a replica of the man, except his face is sweeter and he has green eyes where the man has brown. The little boy’s hair is exactly like his father’s maybe a tad lighter. It’s not long but it could definitely use a cut. As he bounces from the truck holding a stuffed dinosaur, his bangs fall into his eyes.