Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“Yes.” She twists her lips. “No. I don’t know. I get what you’re saying. It’s a good time for you but not for Ozzy. But in a few years, if Lola gets better and the timing is right for Ozzy, you could be with someone else.”
“Exactly.” I wrinkle my nose. “And I feel like I need to be all in or get out. I need to completely walk away because I don’t want to be another source of pain or loss in Lola’s life by thinking I can hold out until she’s better and their lives are somewhat normal again, only to have that never happen.”
“So play this game with me,” Jamie says. “Let’s say she never gets into a car again, and therefore, neither does Ozzy. Missoula is the boundary of their world forever. Can you be part of that small world?”
I rub my hands over my face and mumble, “I don’t know. Does that make me an awful person?”
“Of course not.”
“But if I love him—”
“Do you? Do you truly love him?” Jamie asks.
“Yes.”
She lifts her eyebrows. “You didn’t even hesitate.”
I grin because I always feel joy and uncontrolled giddiness when I think of Ozzy and Lola. “You know what I don’t know?”
“What’s that?”
I hesitate for a few seconds. “Had I met Ozzy, a single guy with no child, never been married, I know I would have been attracted to him. But I’ve been attracted to other guys. Good guys. You know? To me, Ozzy isn’t just a sexy mechanic at Cielo. He’s Lola’s father. And a widower. And he’s grounded, but not just in the literal sense. Is it weird that I feel like I’m attracted to the man he is because of the tragedy he’s faced? Because he’s a dad?”
“No. Tragedies change people. Think about it. Lola will never look at another person with scars the way she might have had she not gone through this experience in her life. People need silver linings. I bet you love Ozzy because these tragedies have made him a better man. And it sucks that his wife died, but I bet he is a different, perhaps better, person for having survived it.”
I let her words settle for a few seconds before glancing at my watch again. “I have to get Bandit. Want to come with me?”
“To guard you from the grandma?”
I laugh and hold up my phone so she can see Ozzy’s message about me not going inside.
“Yikes.”
I stand. “Yikes indeed. I wish I could get her to like me.”
“I’m sure it’s not personal. You have to know that, right?”
“I know.” I grab my purse from the bottom step.
“I’ll stay here and clean a few things.” Miss Clean Queen grins.
I open the front door. “Clean away. Wish me luck.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“What took you so long?” Lola asks when I climb out of my RAV. Her blond hair blows in her face while she totes Bandit toward me.
I laugh. “Sorry. I was talking with a friend.”
“My dad? I know he’s not just a friend.”
I take Bandit from her and open the back of my vehicle to put him in his carrier. “My friend Jamie. You met her and her fiancé, Fitz. They just bought a house, and they’re getting married.”
“I almost went to a wedding,” Lola says.
“Oh?” I close the back door and lean against it, arms crossed over my chest.
Lola kicks a rock in the driveway. “Yeah, my aunt Jenny asked me to be her flower girl, but then the accident happened. Dad said it had nothing to do with my face, but I don’t believe them. So Aunt Jenny and Uncle Darin anteloped.”
“They eloped.”
“Yeah.” She giggles, and her nose wrinkles. “That’s it.”
“What’s your middle name?”
“Winnie. Why?”
I gently frame her face, and her big blue eyes gaze up at me while my thumb traces one of her scars. “Because I need to use your full name when I say this to you so you know I’m serious. Okay?”
Lola blinks and whispers, “Okay.”
“Lola Winnie Laster, I promise you that your aunt and uncle wanted you to be their flower girl even after your accident. There’s a reason people say true love is blind. It’s because the people who really love you see your beauty in all its glorious forms. They saw it before the accident. You radiated a bright innocence. And now, your scars”—again, I brush my thumb under her eye—“they are reminders of your strength. When people look at you, they see everything they hope to be themselves. Strong. Brave. And beautiful.”
She swallows hard.
I lean down and press my lips to her forehead before whispering, “You’re alive, sweet girl. And life is beautiful.”
“My mom is dead,” she murmurs.
I run my fingers through her hair to the back of her head and pull her into my embrace. “I know. And that is your ugly truth. My brother died. And that is my ugly truth.”