Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
I took a deep breath and put on my shades, and I just stared up at my house.
It was gonna be a great month.
Looked like I’d start by mowing the front lawn.
“Oh my word, is that you, Ty?”
I shut the door to my truck and threw a glance across the street. “Sure is, Mrs. Carlson.” I smiled and opened up the back to let Terra out. My little Jack Russell was looking forward to this month too. “Looks like we’ve gotten lucky with the weather.”
Chilly nights and warm days made for easy huntin’.
“Given the numbers they’re rackin’ up around town, I’d agree with you!” she exclaimed. “The Ludlows found a fifteen-footer in their backyard just the other mornin’.”
I wasn’t surprised. It was why I liked the occasional cold snaps we got down here. The pythons came out in the mornings to warm up, and that was when we caught them. The mating season was just about to begin too, which drew out the larger specimens.
“Well, let them know I’m back in town for the next few weeks,” I said, grabbing my duffel bag. “Soon as you see one, I’ll come runnin’.”
“You are a treasure, Ty,” she gushed. “I’ll let the ladies at the club know too. We’ve been collectin’ more pillowcases for you.”
I grinned and offered her a two-finger salute. “You know the way to my heart, darlin’. Now I gotta see if Marina’s turned the house into a battlefield.”
“Oh, she’s a treasure too,” Mrs. Carlson assured. “Always so sweet and helpful.”
Nice to hear, not that it came as a shock. No matter how messy my daughter was, she was the best part of me, and we made one hell of a team.
“Come on, girl.” I summoned Terra and left the driveway, and I could already hear the loud music from inside.
I’d inherited the house when my grandfather passed a few years ago, after which Marina and I had started splitting our time between DC and Florida.
Southwest Florida, more accurately, was home to me; I’d grown up here, Marina was born here, but DC had been a natural choice once I’d retired from the Air Force. DC was where she’d gone to school, and it was where I’d recently started a security business with two friends. Marina and I weren’t leaving the life we’d built up there. But that didn’t mean we didn’t love coming home to our neck of the Ten Thousand Islands where Gramps had left me a place I’d never have been able to afford on my own.
It was fucking crazy what houses cost down here, and we weren’t even in the thick of it. The housing market on Marco Island was worse. We were just north of there, sharing our own little island with about two hundred residents, and our only connection to the rest of the world was a county road that flooded every year.
I winced as I entered the house, immediately assaulted by Marina’s god-awful dance music.
I bet she was cleaning. The downstairs looked spotless, and that wasn’t my girl’s style. She was the one who tore through the house and cleaned right before Dad got home.
She’d been here two weeks already—and unfortunately, she was leaving soon.
I peered into the guest bath in the hallway and nodded to myself. One bucket and one mop. No wonder everything smelled like lemon.
It wasn’t a big house, and that suited us perfectly. Two bedrooms upstairs, with a shared terrace atop part of the living room down here that extended past the patio. Kitchen was on the small side, but we didn’t need anything larger. The few times Ma came down from Naples, we ate on the porch, and I crashed on the couch, while she took my bedroom.
I dumped my bag on the kitchen bar for now and ran a hand through my hair. I was, however, entertaining a larger crowd for the first time ever this month, so it’d be interesting to see where everyone would sleep. Two couches in the living room, the two bedrooms… I reckoned I could dust off the guest bed for one of us to sleep on, wherever it was. Probably in the garage. We had what Marina called the Harry Potter room under the stairs, but even if a bed would fit there, it was decorated to be Jet’s downtime space.
Worst-case scenario, I had my boat. It was just a couple minutes’ trek down the boardwalk, and its dining area below deck could be converted into a bed.
Speaking of Jet… He should be here somewhere. I opened the fridge, noticing Marina must’ve stocked up for my arrival, and I grabbed a beer and a baby carrot. The sound of a knife hitting the cutting board usually drew the boy out.
“Ty, Ty!”
There we go.
Jet flew downstairs and landed on the bar. “Ty’s home!”