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)
She was doing more than thinking about it. I’d spent a few sleepless nights wondering if that was why her friend was coming here. Not for the race or a visit, but to convince her to leave with him ahead of schedule.
“How can she think about moving when she’s about to be a grandmother?” Bernie asked. When I gave her a look, she waved her hand. “Grand-godmother. Whatever. If I have to do it, she does too. She promised the shaman.”
“So, you’ve forgiven her for whatever you’ve been mad about for the last few years?”
Her shoulders slumped. “I know I’ve been a bitch. I wanted to apologize, but it never seemed like the right time. I didn’t think she’d leave.”
That sounded familiar.
“It hasn’t happened yet,” I told her gruffly, not liking the guilt on her face or the way it mirrored my own feelings. “Maybe we could both spend a little more time with her. Remind her that she’s got people here that care about her.”
She was staring as if I’d sprouted a second head. “Let me get this straight. You’re not sure she’s staying, but you’re still having a thing? You’re still interested?”
I’d always been interested, and after these last few weeks, I didn’t see that changing anytime soon. No matter where she decided to go. “Can you keep it to yourself?”
“I know my job.” Her fingers made a zipping motion over her lips. “No telling Morgan.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle her. “No telling anybody was what I was going for.”
She gave me a pitying look. “That’s not realistic and I’m ashamed of you for thinking it is. I have to tell Phoebe. Though she’s the one who put two and two together, so she already knows. But if she didn’t, I carried her in my body for nine months and that bond supersedes all other oaths.” She chewed thoughtfully on her lip. “And I have to call Yvonne so she can send some good juju your way via her spirit guides. But that’s it. The three of us won’t break the circle of trust. Not until your wedding night or your tenth anniversary, whichever comes first.”
She sounded more like our stepmom every day.
“I have to get her to spend more time with me before you start ringing those bells, Bernadette.”
She quietly bounced in place like she’d run into her favorite boy band in the grocery store but didn’t want to scare them away. “You have the crush now. How the worm has turned.”
“What worm?” I shook my head. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
I needed someone to keep their head on straight, because I’d lost mine weeks ago.
Maybe this crush, as Bernie called it, was my midlife crisis. A constant hard-on and no common sense was not what I was expecting forty-nine to look like, but I supposed it could have been worse.
“Now if you’ll excuse me for a minute,” I said, holding up my phone, “I have to tell her Morgan isn’t happy about her entering the race.”
I didn’t expect my words to turn Bernie into an avenging angel right in front of my eyes.
“Are you talking about the race? The 24 Hours of Lemons?” Her voice got progressively louder and I took a step back instinctively, out of poking range. “That thing I’ve been banned from participating in for years, in spite of the fact that I dated a stunt driver in my twenties who told me I should consider changing careers because I was that good? She’s entering that race?”
“What are you talking about? No one’s banned except for that idiot Dave. I was planning on asking you to give August a few lessons in defensive driving. Did someone ban you?”
What the fuck?
The front door opened and Gene stepped outside with a bucket of fried chicken cradled possessively in his arms. “What are you two plotting out here?”
How hard was it to get a minute of privacy in a house full of people? I went ahead and texted August while keeping a cautious eye on my volatile sibling.
Bernie crossed her arms, covering her ire with a thin-lipped smile. “Welcome back, Eugene. I bet I can guess what you brought to dinner.”
“You can’t bring me down, Bernadette.” He proved it by grinning in spite her use of the full name he hated. “I’ve been looking forward to this since we got off the plane. I bought an extra bucket so I don’t have to share. I haven’t had fried chicken in a month.”
I shook my head. “From what your wife told us, you found a place that served it in Rome and refused to get on the boat until you ordered some.”
“Fried chicken in Italy, Gene?” Bernie’s tone was all mock disappointment. “That feels like a tourist move.”
“Funny story,” he started, his back against the closed garage door as he settled in, still cuddling his treasure. “There was this old guy on the cruise who would not stop complaining about the lack of Italian food in Italy. He kept saying, ‘Where’s the lasagna? Where’s a good deep-dish pizza? Why doesn’t this have any meatballs?’ It was hilarious. At least I’m not that much of a tourist. I went native. I ate—”