Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
A ferret on the loose? Jesus. Sounds like an absolute fucking nightmare.
“Welcome to Fall Fest, a.k.a.: my worst nightmare,” Layla says dryly. “If it isn’t weather or generators, it’s a ferret with a death wish.” Her sigh is loud. “I should walk the row of vendors to make sure the band hasn’t tried to hijack anything else.” She gives Benny a nod. “You coming?”
My daughter bounces on her heels. “Yup. Have to drop them their snacks.” She spares me a glance. “Dad, come with.”
My brows rise. “Do we think that’s a good idea?”
Layla wobbles her head as she debates. “Eh. I think you’re safe. I think now that you’re done signing, people will respect your time.”
Can’t hurt to try.
I’ve been in crowds larger than this, and everyone seems friendly, here more for the pumpkin spice and less for football receivers. Regardless, as I trail along after the two girls and we fade into the crowd, I remove the ballcap from my back pocket and pull it down over my hair. It’s not much by way of disguise, but it can’t hurt.
Main Street smells like fall.
People glance at me, clock me as being someone well known, and for the most part, keep the level to one of three polite small-town greetings: a chin lift, a “hey,” or a mittened thumbs-up. One guy mouths Good luck at me but keeps walking. No one shoves a phone in my face.
Cool. Good father-daughter bonding time won’t be a challenge.
Layla moves with purpose through the crowd, guiding us along, clipboard in one hand, radio clipped to the pocket of a jacket that’s not nearly warm enough for how crisp and damp the air is, but whatever. What do I care?
She stops to redirect a kettle corn vendor who’s testing the decibel limits on his Bluetooth speaker, thanks the cupcake truck for showing up early and nabs Benny a mini cake, and catches a kid before he darts away from his parents.
The woman is a human fireball—nothing gets past her.
I find it oddly satisfying watching her in action, and watching her laugh with my daughter.
Weird, right?
Everything is going great, and I’m happy to tag along, blending in as if I were one of these Star Lake residents. All good.
And then it isn’t.
A large gazebo looms ahead of us, where a band has been playing acoustic pop hits, and we almost reach it when a man peels himself from a blond woman.
He’s a tall gym-rat-looking dude. Hair a thick mop on top of his head. Dark five-o’clock shadow. Designer peacoat over a blue plaid flannel shirt.
I know the type. The kind of guy who thinks attention is currency and gets his sense of self-worth from likes on social media. Probably has an account where he posts shirtless gym selfies and talks about gains. Knows he’s good looking and takes advantage.
“Layla.” He grins, pulling the blond along with him. “Hey.”
My jaw sets.
She stills. One heartbeat. Two. The easy set of her shoulders disappears—a recalibration. She turns slowly, professional smile masking something colder.
Weary.
Leery.
“Blake.” Her tone is neutral in a way that tells me she cannot stand the sight of this guy. “Enjoying the festival?”
Blake? Of course his name is Blake.
Douche.
His gaze rakes over her—braided hair, boots, clipboard—with a familiarity that makes my hands curl. “Yeah, it’s not bad. Cute setup.” His eyes flicker over me, disregarding me as a threat. That’s how far up his own ass this guy is. “This the security detail?”
Security detail? Seriously. Does this piece of shit not know who I am?
My name is on a goddamn tent!
I am the Main Goddamn Attraction, For Fuck’s Sake.
Benny shifts closer to me, small and bristling. I feel her shoulder bump against my hip, and I put my arms around her as Blake pulls his companion to his side.
“You remember Dr. Debrick.” His hand slides around her waist.
Layla’s chin dips into a greeting. “Of course.”
“Figured we’d run into you here.” Another once-over as he skims Layla’s body with his beady eyes. “You look . . . the same.”
Was that a dig?
“Gee, thanks.”
Yup. It was.
“Small towns, am I right?” The idiot chuckles as if he’s just told a joke, scanning the crowd with a sneer tugging at his mouth. “Yeah, I don’t know about you, but Paige and I were just talking about dipping out of here next fall and doing a cruise instead.”
A nod. “How fun.”
He continues to ignore me while at the same time shoving his new girlfriend down Layla’s throat—it would be obvious to anyone with half a brain that’s what’s happening right now. He’s trying to make her jealous.
His dumb, raspy voice has a salesman glide I find irritating. He keeps angling Paige like a trophy so Layla has no choice but to look at her, what he probably considers a shinier, sexier, hotter version.
Idiot.
“Caribbean,” he adds, giving Paige’s waist a squeeze. “Or maybe Mediterranean. You know, somewhere not here.” He winks.