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)
I was Reliable Wade. Responsible Wade. Methodical Wade.
For almost forty-nine years, I’d been pigeonholed as the one that took every bump in the road with a shrug, and then slogged through and got it done. It made me the friend and boss people felt they could turn to every time there was a problem.
Like needing a tow from the airport at the ass-crack of dawn, or expecting me to find a new car for a race in all the spare time I didn’t have.
I wasn’t complaining. Not much, anyway. I’d never had a problem being that guy. Sometimes I even enjoyed it. But yesterday morning really messed with my head, and seeing August’s apartment for rent had only made things worse.
Needing a moment to regroup, I went out through the front door to unhook her car from my truck. After I backed it in behind the VW, I propped the sun shade between the weathered dash and the cracked windshield, and rolled the windows down an inch to vent the heat, smelling butterscotch for some reason. Then I got out and removed the paper mat I’d put down to protect the carpet, scooted the seat forward again so she could reach the pedals, and glanced around to make sure everything was back where it belonged.
I didn’t love the idea of her driving around in a twenty-year-old car that was anything but reliable, so I’d done all I could to make sure it was safe. Including a few things she’d never see on any bill.
She could sue me if she didn’t like it, but she’d have to figure it out first, I thought as I wadded up the mat and tossed it into the cab of my truck on my way by, then headed back to the kitchen.
Gus was still nowhere to be seen, so I stuck my hands in my pockets and wandered slowly around the room. From what I’d seen, it was still the nicest one in the house. The older couple she bought it from had planned a total renovation, but they’d only done the kitchen, adding bay windows, a breakfast nook and butcher block counters, before giving up and offering her a deal so they could fuck off to be ski bums in Colorado.
There was an old postcard from them on her stainless-steel fridge. It was surrounded by pictures of her family. One of her and Morgan when they were kids, standing in front of the VW’s predecessor, whose name had apparently been Jack. Another of Morgan and her mother together in a recognizable but unfinished Charlie’s Angels pose, with August laughing and stepping partially out of frame.
At first glance, none of them looked anything alike. The five-foot-nothing pixie-sized Sam, with her curly blonde hair and big blue eyes. The tall, light brown Morgan, her hair straightened for the occasion and a knowing smirk on her face. And August, temptation personified, with a riot of big hazelnut curls and wide, full lips framing a breathtaking smile.
I hadn’t seen that smile in a long time.
The sound of scratching at the back door had me walking over to open it.
Merlin stood there, a paper plate covered in crumbs and drool clutched firmly in his mouth.
We took some time sizing each other up. This dog and I always got along, but I knew better than to try and pet him when food was involved. “Hey, wizard.”
He tilted his head, his tail giving a one-wag salute, and then he was moving past me, headed toward the living room with his prize.
I wouldn’t rat him out if he’d show me the same courtesy.
I was closing the door again when August reappeared, tugging at the hem of her long black T-shirt. Her now-supported breasts still strained against the fabric, where a unicorn cavorted above the words I Will Cut You. I’d take that as another warning to keep my distance. She’d swapped out her slouchy shorts for some form-fitting khaki ones that did great things for her legs and tamed her curls into a no-nonsense bun.
Armor achieved.
“You were going to tell me how you knew about the apartment,” she said, picking up exactly where we’d left off as she leaned against the counter.
“Have you gotten any hits on it yet?”
My phone started up again and, after glancing at the notifications, I turned it off because it was the quickest way I knew to escape the damn thread.
She was staring at me as if trying to decide whether or not to tell me to mind my own business, but she wanted answers too, so she sighed and gave in. “A few. I actually have one pretty good applicant in the running.”
“Is that right,” I said flatly.
“That’s right. This Terry guy looks great on paper. Who knows? He could be the white knight who’ll save me from having to apply for a job at the nearest burger joint,” she joked.