Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Kat grins. “It’s a start.”
“And you can come visit me,” I add, pointing my fork at her. “There’s nothing like the Swiss Alps.”
“Deal,” Kat says and takes a bite of her quiche. She groans in delight and asks, “Good, right?”
“Amazing,” I agree.
We move on to lighter topics. I share my immediate plans for the printshop, explaining that I think the best course is for me to get it in shape to sell. I don’t envision my mom will be able to run it, but I’ve seen enough potential to know it can be lucrative with some work.
Kat listens intently, offering support and encouragement, and we talk about even less important things like fashion, horses and favorite recipes.
“You haven’t mentioned anyone special,” Kat observes, pushing her empty plates away.
I smirk, eating the last piece of crust from my quiche. “Guess that should tell you I have no one special.”
“Have you ever?”
Tamping down a wave of sadness, I nod. “Once. But it didn’t work out.”
“Don’t want to talk about it, do you?”
I smile at her. “You know me well.”
“Fine, I’ll let it go. But promise me that we’ll do a girls’ night out before you leave. And of course, you’ll have to come back to dinner at the farm. Oh, and we have to go horseback riding. I’ll get Trey and Wade, and it will be like old times. Maybe Abby can get a few days away from her practice and then it will be a real reunion.”
Laughing, I feel pressed to agree to some of that. “A girls’ night would be fun, and I wouldn’t ever say no to horses. Just say when.”
Kat insists on paying for the check and on the way out, I admit that I feel lighter than I have in days. While I could never tell Kat the full truth, it was so cathartic at least telling her some partial truths.
We hug tightly before parting ways, and as I walk to my car, I can’t help but be a bit unsettled about this town. It was such a deep part of my life I don’t think I ever really left it behind. While I can’t imagine coming back, I can at least allow myself a bit of time to grieve all those things I lost after Trey chose someone else over me.
CHAPTER 8
Trey
Wade and I live in a single-story, ranch-style home with a redbrick exterior and white shutters in the heart of Shelbyville. We decided to rent it a few years ago, neither of us wanting to live in the main house at the farm or in one of the employee living quarters. While we’re both devoted to Blackburn Farms, we wanted some measure of freedom away from it.
When I pull into the gravel driveway, I note the grass is due for a cutting, but it’s Wade’s turn. We alternate every week, even though the lot isn’t that big and over half of it is surrounded by mature shade trees. It’s a forty-five-minute job, tops, along with weed-eating.
I step inside the door that opens directly into the kitchen and it’s like stepping back in time. The house was built in the early eighties and not much has changed other than some newer appliances our landlord put in. The kitchen is dated with laminate countertops and golden linoleum with a geometric pattern that hurts my eyes if I stare at it too long. The walls have either wood paneling or flowered wallpaper and the brown carpet is worn but clean.
When we moved in, our landlord told us to feel free to redecorate but neither Wade nor I gave a shit about what it looked like. It’s a place to sleep and relax in our downtime and we moved in comfortable furniture, which is all we really needed.
As Kat would say, we’re typical dudes.
The house is small, with only two bedrooms and one shared bath, and my first order of business is to shower and wash off the stink of a hard day’s work at the barn. As I’m setting my keys down on the counter, Wade exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and a waft of steam following him out. He’d left the farm about half an hour before me as his last lesson of the day didn’t show up.
“You better have left me some hot water,” I grouch. Wade loves his long showers and we’re usually racing home to see who can get in there first.
“About thirty seconds left,” he says with a grin. “Better wash fast.”
“Asshole,” I mutter, moving past him to my bedroom. “And when are you going to cut the grass? It needs it and it’s your turn.”
“I know it’s my turn,” he mutters as he follows me in. “You don’t have to remind me.”
I reach into my drawers, pulling out fresh jeans, underwear and a T-shirt. “Apparently I do because you could have done it as soon as you got home. Instead, you showered.”