Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“I wanted to do it, Katy,” he says, and his eyes feel so sincere it nearly takes my breath away. “I wanted to make sure you were okay yesterday, and despite the whole busted foot and crutches, I want to make sure you have a good birthday today. I’m sure this still isn’t exactly what you had in mind—being that you’re in the company of moi and all—but I hope it makes you feel just a little bit special.”
I nod. It’s all I can manage without giving away the gaggle of burgeoning tears in my throat.
“It’s truly my pleasure,” he responds, and a teasing, playful smile crests one side of his mouth. “Just like Chick-fil-A.”
I snort at that.
He closes the distance between us and helps me sit down on one of the kitchen barstools, and then he grabs the box of donuts and bottle of wine from the table to bring them over to me.
Out of his back pocket, he pulls a box of birthday candles, and he sticks them one by one into the donuts of lore.
I couldn’t swipe the smile off my face if I wanted to.
“Happy birthday, Katy,” Mack whispers, taking a lighter to each of the candles until they’re all blazing in front of me. “Make a wish, babe.”
I meet his eyes for the briefest of moments and then lean closer as I rack my brain for a wish I want to come true.
Let the rest of the school year go well? Jeez, that’s kind of lame.
Win the lottery? Those kinds of wishes never come true.
Let me know what it’s like to kiss Mack Houston? Oh, what the—
But before I can take that last wish back or move on to a new one, a whoosh of air slides in from the condo’s open balcony door, and poof, all the candles go out. Mack claps and cheers, and I just sit there wondering where in the hell that thought even came from.
Kiss Mack Houston?
Am I still high? I mean, seriously? How long does morphine stay in your body?
Girlfriend, the morphine is long gone, and with it, so is all that pent-up hate you had for Mack Houston.
Starting today, my vacation’s got a whole new set of problems.
Katy
Piggyback-style, Mack carries me from the condo all the way down to the beach. “Crutches and sand are no-go,” he said, right before he forced me to climb on his back and carried me out the front door.
This birthday, he insisted, was going to be a good one, bum foot or not.
And truth be told, at this point, I believe him. Between the donut cake, balloons and streamers, and the breakfast balcony chat that followed, I’m starting to learn there’s more to my archnemesis than meets the eye.
And with as many muscles as he has, there’s a lot of surface area to uncover.
I’m not surprised by the easy rhythm he said he’s found with my father—the two of them even exchanging some messages this morning about my parents’ plans to come to New York to spread my grandfather’s ashes next month.
Is it super strange that Mack is now having text chats with my dad? Of course.
But Kai Dayton and Mack are both kids at heart. Easy to smile, hard to tame. My dad just never grew up after he had me, but Mack…well, he said himself that his parents and sister made him the center of their world.
I wouldn’t know how to be the center of someone’s world if I tried. My stubborn ass even tried to convince Mack that I didn’t need to be carried down to the beach, as if my crutches wouldn’t do a herkie-style split the minute they made contact with the grainy surface.
I shake my head to clear it of all these heavy thoughts and focus on the view. The sun is shining brightly in the sky, and the Gulf water is gloriously clear. It’s just nearing noon, and the beach is already filled with kids playing in the sand and adults sitting beneath umbrella chairs.
As he steps off the small wooden path from the condo and into the sand, it hits me that he’s currently sans paddleboard equipment. A memory from yesterday pops into my brain, one that distinctly recalls him leaving everything behind on the sand in order to get me to the emergency room.
“Where’s your paddleboard stuff?” I ask, and he glances at me over his shoulder.
“Back at the condo.”
“Phew. That’s a relief,” I admit and adjust my arms a little tighter around his neck. “I was afraid your stuff might’ve gotten stolen when that seashell assaulted me.”
“I ran down and got it after we came back,” he updates and squeezes my bare thighs playfully with both of his big hands. “You were otherwise indisposed from all the morphine.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
His responding chuckle vibrates through his chest, and it makes the tips of my fingers tingle against his skin.