Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
I feel decades lighter. Something I held on to for years is loosening its grip on me. But what about my mistakes over the last few weeks? “I am to blame for my own actions though.”
Mom shrugs like that’s not a big deal. “Fine. Maybe you should have stepped away from the job sooner. But you didn’t. Is it such a crime? And did you actually fail to protect Ripley when you worked with her? As far as I can tell, not a hair on her or her sister’s head was harmed.” She holds up her forefinger. “You lost one potential client, and that’s too bad. But maybe the bigger question is this—is she worth it?”
“Worth losing a client over?”
“Yes,” Emily says, seeming exasperated.
It takes nothing to answer from my whole heart. “Yes. She is.”
Mom smiles. “Then let go of the past and move into your future. You’re worth it, and it sure as hell sounds like she is.”
Emily’s eyes pop. “Mom! Language!”
Mom points her fork at me. “Well, someone was being stubborn, so I had no choice. Now stop being a perfectionist and start moving past your mistakes.”
“And start tonight,” Emily adds.
“I will.” As we formulate a plan, I dig into my pasta, and it’s the best meal I’ve had in ages.
48
MIDNIGHT PICNIC
RIPLEY
In the cottage bathroom, I set the lotion on the counter, not even remotely lined up with my toothpaste. I get to be chaotic again. I can leave things where I want them. I can clean coffee cups in the afternoon instead of the morning.
Yay.
But the possibilities bring me no real joy.
After I rub the lotion onto my legs post-shower, I trudge back into the main room of the cottage. The lonely cottage. One more night here; then, when the crew leaves, I can return to my house. I’m counting down.
Hudson perks up, then shakes into a stand from his spot on the floor, trotting my way to lick my leg. “Of course, you lotion hound,” I say, petting his head.
Dogs are so weird. Why do they like to lick lotion? I should look it up. It’ll keep my mind off other things.
Like, oh say, heartache.
I head to the sliding glass doors, yank them open, and sit down on the Adirondack chair on the deck in my sleep shorts, my dog at my side. I look up at the inky-black sky, stars shimmering light-years away, then down at the lavender fields stretching before me into the maze with its fairy lights.
Next week, a tour group will wander through that maze. Next weekend, a couple booked it for an engagement. The week after that, we’ll have more picnics than I can count. The shop will reopen, deliveries will continue, and business will increase.
Somehow, in spite of all the madness, everything’s worked out.
Nearly everything.
My bad-romance track record remains intact, but other than that, I didn’t distract from the shoot, I didn’t pull focus from the town, and I didn’t worry my sister.
I draw a deep breath, inhaling lavender and calmness, wishing one more thing had worked out. I look up at the sky again, looking for a shooting star.
But finding none.
Oh well. It’s for the best anyway.
I’m the practical one. The independent one. The fix-it one. And yet, my heart still hurts, and I keep wondering.
And wishing.
And stupidly hoping.
Best to go inside. Tomorrow I’ll need to work on moving on. That’ll be easier once I’m back in my regular space. “C’mon, boy,” I say to Hudson, and he heads inside with me once again.
As I shut the door, my phone beeps with Haven’s ringtone. I grab it from the table and swipe to answer. “Hey, cutie. Do you miss me already?”
“Obviously,” she says. In the background, glasses clink, and music plays at the wrap party. “So much so that I want to come over and hang out. You and me. Does that work for you?”
“Of course.”
Some things never change. Her and me—the way we depend on each other, need each other, rely on each other.
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes. We can have a midnight picnic.” Like we did when we used to sneak out of the house after our parents were asleep and play in the field.
“That sounds perfect.” I’m genuinely excited to see her. “I’ll get everything ready.”
“What did you say?” Haven asks, but from her lowered volume, she’s not talking to me. Faintly, I hear Chris Carlisle’s familiar voice, but I can’t make out the words.
When Haven returns to me, she says, “See you soon.”
We end the call, and I change out of sleep shorts and into leggings and a T-shirt. I slide on sandals, twist my hair into a bun, then head to the door, expecting Hudson to follow. But he flops down on the carpet with a beleaguered sigh. “Fine, fine. I get it. It’s past your bedtime.”