Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Fuck, I want that. More than want it. I need it. “I’m trying to be better, trying to make changes.” I want to be worthy of Morgan and East.
And of Tripp’s friendship too. And Meadow’s.
“We’re all trying together,” Morgan says, and then I watch as he walks over to my table. “You made this, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“The swing on the porch? The one like Mom’s?”
“That too.”
“And you’ve always loved this? Wanted to do it?”
“I know it’s dumb, but—”
“No. It’s not. It’s amazing, and I’m so fucking proud of you.”
I feel those words, let them soak into me, feed me. It’s one of the first times in my life that I’ve given my younger brother something to be proud of. “Thank you. I’m, um…working with Tripp. I’m sure Dusty told you that.”
Morgan smiles. “How was your first day?”
“Perfect.”
And then, then I’m smiling too.
I’ll never forget this day—both with Tripp and Morgan.
When Morgan leaves, I pull out my phone, and in the section I started for Important Moments, I put today’s date, then add: First day of work with Tripp; Hug and Conversation with Morgan.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tripp
Rhett and I work together about three days a week for the next few weeks. Every morning, he gets me a coffee. On the third day, I started bringing him little treats to go with his lunch. The first day was a piece of apple crisp Meadow and I made the night before. We didn’t have the ice cream to go along with it, but Rhett seemed to like it all the same. We’ve made chocolate-chip cookies, which I brought him too, and when he mentioned liking banana bread, that was next on my list.
I’m pretty sure the coffee is Rhett’s way of trying to pay me back for letting him work with me. But then, there are other small things he does that make me think Rhett is a secret caretaker and the coffee is only one of his ways of taking care of me. We got a soda the other day, and he opened mine for me before handing it over. Then, when we were hauling materials through the house and my boot was untied, rather than telling me, Rhett stopped me, knelt, and tied it for me.
I must admit, that one stole my damn breath—so much about Rhett does. The more time I spend with him, the more attracted to him I get, but it’s more than that. I like him. I just really fucking like Rhett Swift. He’s a good man who doesn’t see it, and I crave being around him.
Today is our last workday of this week. We’re still at the same job, now renovating the bathrooms.
“Is this what you’ve always wanted to do?” Rhett asks, which is new. He’ll ask me more questions, start more conversations now than he used to.
“Yeah. My brother, Bruce, and I used to work with my dad a lot around the house. Dad is the kind of guy who can figure out how to do just about anything, so most of the time, if anything broke or if Mom wanted anything built or remodeled, Dad would do it himself.”
“Did that happen a lot?”
“I wouldn’t say a lot, but I got some experience and realized I liked it. Me, Bruce, and Dad built a treehouse when I was in sixth grade. It was nice too, lots of space. It’s where I used to go to get away. Also, I kissed my first girl in that treehouse.” I waggle my brows, and Rhett chuckles.
“In sixth grade?”
“Nope. Eighth at that point. Molly. She moved away in high school. Anyway, it was also in eighth grade that my mom found this junior carpenter class. It was just an after-school thing for fun, but she signed me up because she knew how much I liked working with my hands. There was no going back after that.”
“Your dad didn’t mind? He’s a realtor. Bruce works with him, right?”
I frown at his question—that he has to ask it at all. Gregory would have had an issue with Rhett taking a class for something he liked and choosing a career that’s his passion rather than following in his footsteps. “No, Rhett. My dad didn’t mind.”
He nods, the mood heavier, like he realizes why he asked. He’s letting me see so many more pieces of himself that I’m not sure he’s ever shared with anyone. There is so much meaning in that.
“Thank you, Rhett.”
“For what?”
“This.” I shrug. “Us. I like being your friend.”
He looks away. “I like being your friend too.”
I grin. “Good. Because I have an extra special surprise for you today.”
He faces me again. “What is it?”
I look at the time. It’s twelve thirty, so that works. “Come here.” We go to the kitchen, wash our hands, and then I pull a covered container out of my cooler, grab a bag, and set them on the counter.