Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Before he could talk himself out of it, he texted Liam back.
I’ll be there.
The kissy face emoji he received in return had a strange warmth expanding through his chest.
Tate dressed quickly and then went to the kitchen for some coffee and whatever the hell he could find for breakfast, which turned out to be a package of s’mores pop tarts. Randy loved them, and the asshole didn’t own a toaster, so he kept a stock in Tate’s kitchen.
His mom’s door, on the opposite end of the trailer, stood wide open, which meant she’d either stayed out all night or had come home bombed and passed out face-first on her bed without so much as removing her heels. A quick peek revealed it was the first option.
Great. Another missed shift at the diner. He’d never know why the hell they kept her on the a.m. shift. For years, he’d been expecting her to come home in tears, claiming she’d been fired, but Bertha kept her on staff for whatever reason.
Probably pity.
The door opened, and Randy popped his head in. “You ready to roll?”
He shook his head as he poured his coffee into one of the travel mugs he’d stocked up on a few days ago. “I got an estimate over on Columbus Ave in Culpepper first thing this morning. It shouldn’t take more than an hour, but then I gotta swing by the office. I’ll have to meet you and Daryl at the job on Hemlock here in town.
“The fuck, dude? You couldn’ta told me last night?”
No, last night he’d been too busy trying not to lose his shit. “Sorry, just catch a ride with Daryl.” Or maybe stop getting in so many fucking accidents so you can keep your damn license for more than a month.
“Oh, come on,” he whined. “That means I gotta wake his lazy ass up. Remember what happened last time I woke that loser up?”
Tate laughed. He hadn’t thought about that in a while. About six months ago, Randy was making himself a sandwich to bring to work for lunch. Since he couldn’t do anything right, he dropped a butcher knife straight onto his foot. It made a giant mess of blood all over the kitchen floor. Randy freaked the fuck out, only making the chaos worse.
Tate had already been at work, so Randy hobbled across the way to Daryl’s trailer and let himself in. He found Daryl passed out on the couch. When he tried to wake his best friend, he ended up with a major black eye to complement the six stitches he ended up needing in his foot.
Tate laughed his ass off.
“Just give him a warning before you touch him.”
Randy scoffed.
“Or better yet, pay him back by socking him in the eye.” Maybe it’d knock some sense into the idiot.
That suggestion had Randy’s eyes lighting up. “Shit, Tate, you’re a goddamn genius. Thanks.”
Were there two dumber men than Randy and Daryl?
Tate stuffed the pop tart in his mouth, grabbed the travel mug, keys, phone, and wallet, and then jogged to his car. As he slipped behind the wheel, shouting from Daryl’s trailer had him laughing out loud.
The estimate went well, and within an hour, he had a fresh job booked for the following week. Once he’d finished with the new client, he ran by the office to finish some outstanding paperwork and send a few invoices. Their office was a town over in Culpepper, so he didn’t make it in every day. This morning, he’d hoped to have another conversation with his boss about putting their name in the ring for the new housing development, but of course, Larkin wasn’t there. His work ethic made Daryl look like a damn workhorse.
As he drove back toward Swan, Food Haven passed by on the right. The store beat the grocery store in Swan hands down. Should he pick up something to bring to Liam’s for dinner? That’s what dates did, right? Brought each other nice shit occasionally?
As he approached the next light, he pulled into the left lane and then swung a U-turn, imagining the surprised delight on Liam’s face when he showed up with a treat of some sort. Tate knew fuck all about wine, but Liam had really liked the wine they’d had on their picnic.
It’d been white and called Sav-something. He could probably pull off finding one like that again.
Luck was on his side today. As soon as he walked into the store, he encountered a large display of some local brand of wine. They were featuring their Sauvignon Blanc. It sounded familiar enough, so Tate grabbed a bottle and got in line behind one man with a decent-size order. He seemed to know the cashier because they were chatting and laughing like old friends.
Tate resisted the urge to ask them to hurry the hell up and, with nothing better to do, tuned into their conversation.