Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Kingston gave it a beat before saying, “Do you think you might be reading too much into this without having all the facts? She could be trying it out on a temporary basis first, you know? Not getting locked into a year lease with some loser that gives her trouble and doesn’t pay their rent.”
What would she do if that happened? Let them squat indefinitely while she paid for their utilities? Because she’d included utilities in the rent price. It was a steal that someone would snap up in an instant.
I’d known something was up with her.
“You’re right.” I got to my feet again. “I have to get all the details before coming to any conclusions.”
I walked back into the garage. “Hey Dalton, I need the Honda on the tow truck. I’m taking it back myself.”
The eyes over his impressive beard widened. “You don’t want me to call and have them pick it up?”
“Friend of the family,” I barked. Then I sighed. It wasn’t his fault I wanted to get on the road yesterday, if not sooner. “Never mind, I’ve got it.”
“Right, boss.”
“Wade, wait a minute,” Kingston said, trailing after me as I ducked into the office for the keys to both vehicles and then headed out back again.
I ignored him because I didn’t want to wait. She’d put it online yesterday, early afternoon. She could have offers by now. Hell, her address was right there for anyone to see. She could have unwanted visitors, looking to beat out the competition for an early viewing.
Had she thought any of this through? I looked down at my phone again. She was asking for a deposit but not renter’s insurance. She didn’t have a pet deposit listed, but she hadn’t said no to pets. That apartment was literally in her backyard. Did she realize she wouldn’t be able to let the dog out or go for a swim without her renter knowing about it? Was she ready for that kind of invasion?
“Wade.”
“What?” I growled, turning to look at him before realizing I’d overreacted. Again. “Thanks for breakfast, but I think I need to go take care of this.”
“Take care of what?” Kingston asked, looking bewildered. “She’s a woman in her forties renting an apartment on her own property. And she’s Morgan’s sister, not yours. This doesn’t seem like it’s any of our business. I’m not sure why you’re getting worked up about it.”
I was very aware that she wasn’t my sister, but instead of responding, I climbed into the truck, rolled down the windows to cool it off and cranked the engine. After using the remote to unfold and lower the boom, I backed over in front of August’s car, extending it carefully until it met the front tires. Then I locked the claws and raised the CRV’s front end off the ground.
When I got out and put on my gloves to strap the front wheels down, Kingston walked over to stand by the car. He was watching me with his head tilted to one side, as though trying to see things from another angle. It was a habit I hated, since he usually saw way too much.
“No way,” he finally said, crossing his arms. “No fucking way. That was years ago, Wade. You were rebounding from your ex and drinking that night. Hell, even I noticed how good August looked in that dress, and she’s never been my type.”
He was talking about Morgan’s wedding, I thought as I hooked the D-ring into the claw and looped the strap behind the wheel. The wedding, and my drunken confession to my old friend when it was over. What he didn’t know was that it had really started years earlier at Sam’s.
Write it on my tombstone. Those fucking Retta weddings were this man’s downfall.
Sam’s “late to the party” wedding trip to Cancun was the first and only time I’d ever been on a cruise. She was married on the beach when we hit port, with her daughters handing out kazoos to friends and family to serenade the fifty-somethings up the sandy aisle.
That day, August’s curls were loose and wild, and she’d really worked her toy instrument as my sister sang an Otis Redding song about being made for each other. She was so vibrantly alive, I couldn’t stop staring at her. I’d even captured the moment with one of the disposable cameras they’d passed out along with the kazoos—which was uncomfortable, since I’d recently decided to have a quiet civil ceremony with the woman I was dating back home. I’d told myself it was only because, for the first time in years, I was seeing Gus in person instead of as a grainy image in one of her mother’s newsletters. That what I was feeling was simple nostalgia for the little bookworm who used to follow me around.