Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Boy…I mean boy.
He’s not a man, Valentina.
I looked at his broad shoulders. God, he really does look like one, though.
Needing a distraction, I started to clean up. “Okay. Sounds good. I’ll see you in a bit, then.”
Somehow I managed to not stare at his ass as he walked to the door this time.
After I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, I went to the bedroom to get changed. The afternoon sun had started to heat up the house, and I knew the back deck would be scorching hot.
Picking an outfit proved more difficult than I thought. Normally, I’d just throw on my bathing suit with shorts or a cover up in the afternoon, but I didn’t want to look like I was trying to attract attention. My C-cups were difficult to hide under the best circumstances. I wound up changing three times and finally settled on a plain white T-shirt and a pair of old, ripped denim shorts. The shorts were a tad young for me, but Eve might’ve mentioned that my ass looked good in them. Plus, they were sort of messy looking, so it wouldn’t seem like I’d been trying too hard.
I came down the stairs just as Ford knocked on the front screen door.
“Hey.” He eyed my legs and grinned. “You look good.”
His hair was slicked back, still wet from the shower, and he had on nothing but a pair of board shorts and aviator sunglasses. I cleared my throat and tried to ignore the eight-pack and tattoos now on full display.
“Umm… Thanks. Do you want some sunscreen? The sun is roasting on the back deck at this time.”
God, I sound like his mother.
“Nah. I’m good. I don’t burn.”
I started to mentally prepare my UV rays are dangerous even if your skin doesn’t turn red speech, but I stopped myself. A twenty-five-year-old man doesn’t need a lecture.
Boy.
He’s a boy, Valentina.
I grabbed two beers from the fridge, and we went out on the back deck and sat side by side on two lounge chairs. Ford held out his beer to me. “To being back in Montauk.”
I clinked my bottle with his. “To being back in Montauk.”
The icy cold beer really tasted delicious. Ford must’ve agreed, since he made a loud ahhh sound when he’d finished guzzling half the bottle.
“I missed it out here,” he said. “I forgot how much I love it.”
“When was the last time you were out here? I know I haven’t seen you guys in years. But Ryan and I split use of the house, and I let him use it the last two seasons, so I could have missed you.”
“I haven’t been out since the summer before my parents died. I was definitely avoiding coming. This place is filled with so many memories. But so far I feel at peace being here. I guess enough time has passed now that I can remember the good times and appreciate them, rather than be bitter that they’re gone.”
“Your parents really loved Montauk. I’m sure they’d be happy you feel that way and can make new memories of your own.”
We were quiet for a while, taking in the waves crashing against the shore and the sun glistening along the water. Even though it was a warm, almost-summer day, the beach was pretty empty. The tourist season didn’t really start to peak until the kids got out of school, which was another week or two away.
“Yeah. They really loved their summer time at the house.” He brought the beer bottle to his lips and kept looking at the ocean as he spoke. “Life was busy when we were home in the city—they worked a lot. Time seemed to slow down out here, though.”
“I used to watch them together and envy their relationship. They were so sweet to each other, and it reminded me how far apart Ryan and I had grown.”
Ford looked over at me and smiled sadly. “They used to have Mason jars on the nightstands in their bedroom next door. During the summer, they’d write these short little love notes on slips of paper and put them in each other’s jars—one or two lines saying random things they liked that the other did that day. Then on Valentine’s Day every year, they’d come out by themselves to check on the house. They’d stay for one night and exchange jars.”
“Wow. That’s so romantic.”
“Yeah. And we always teased my dad that he was just too cheap to buy a Valentine’s Day present.” Ford chugged the rest of his beer and caught my eyes. “You know, my mom was a year older than my dad.”
“Is that so?”
He nodded. “Being attracted to an older woman must run in the family.”
I laughed. “I don’t think that’s a genetic trait, and one year is a lot smaller than twelve.”
“I did some Googling last week. Jay-Z is twelve years older than Beyoncé. Ryan Reynolds is eleven years older than Blake Lively.”