Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“There you are,” Mason said as I walked in, waving over at me.
“Shit, you scared me,” I told him. He was never usually here in the mornings.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, and I could see in his eyes how tired he was. “Knew they weren’t going to like the thunder.”
“I had the same thought,” I told him, guilt pooling in my chest. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’ll head down to feed Chomp right away.”
“Don’t sweat it, Finn,” Mason said. “I’m up, for once, so I’ll help out. We can get right to it.”
I was grateful for the second pair of hands as we went about checking on each horse, feeding, and cleaning. The thunderclouds seemed to move past Bestens instead of through it, so luckily the worst of the storm was going to be avoided. We made our rounds in record time.
“There you go, Hopper,” I said, running my hand along his mane. Hopper was the older, steadier man of the ranch, and the calmest horse I’d ever known. During lessons, Mason and I agreed that Hopper was everyone’s favorite.
He never had a problem with anything. He’d gotten an injury a couple of months ago, a little sprain in one leg, but he was back to business now.
“He’s looking good, isn’t he?” Mason said, walking by.
“Thunder ain’t a damn thing to him,” I said. “Good sport, Hopper.”
I gave him a nuzzle before I knew I had to go.
“We rocked it,” Mason told me, giving me a nod. “Go clean up and get to your clients. I’ll see you in the afternoon.”
“Right. Shit. You’re one of the clients today,” I said. “God, I’m spacey.”
“Something on your mind?” Mason asked.
Oh, nothing.
Just can’t stop getting turned on thinking about my best friend.
Normal stuff.
“Been busy since Ori got back in town,” I said, heading back out toward my truck as Mason followed. “Things are different with him in Bestens.”
“I bet,” Mason said. He was looking at me with a glint in his eye, like he was wondering something but didn’t have time to ask. “I won’t keep you. See you later, Finn.”
I nodded at him, hopping back into my truck.
I raced home, showered off, and put on a clean set of clothes before beelining back out onto the road.
I would be able to make it to my first client, but it was going to be tight.
I was never late.
I seemed to have every red light and slow driver in Bestens in front of me as I made my way to the client’s house. I drummed on the steering wheel as I watched the time on the clock pass. I tried giving the guy a call twice, but he didn’t pick up. Jim Dunnas was one of my wealthier clients, and I knew he wasn’t exactly my most understanding client of all time.
“We’ve got this, we’ve got this,” I said under my breath even though I knew it wasn’t the case.
I pulled into his curved driveway five minutes past when the appointment was supposed to start. Sure as hell wasn’t going to have time to walk in calmly like I usually did, setting the tone for the whole appointment before we even got started.
I stepped out and hauled my portable table out of the back of my truck.
When I rang the doorbell and Jim answered the door, he gave me a look that made me feel about two feet tall.
“Got a meeting right after this and not much time to shower,” was the first thing he said, before I could apologize. “Let’s go.”
“I apologize, Jim,” I told him. “It won’t happen again.”
And it never has happened, not once in the past two years, I thought, biting back the urge to say it out loud.
“I’m busier than ever this week,” Jim said, which was another thing he said almost every single week. Jim was the CEO of a shipping logistics company a couple of towns over, and I was convinced he thought he was the most important person in the state of Tennessee. He got massages for an old sports injury around his shoulder, and we’d slowly been making progress on rehabilitating the muscle in the area.
Jim made multiple comments about my “tardiness” throughout the massage, even after I’d promised him a hefty discount for today.
I left his house with a pit in my stomach.
I knew it was my fault for being late.
Ori always said I was “too nice,” but in moments like these, where I actually was the one who’d fucked it up, guilt pooled in me like bile in my stomach.
The next three appointments I had were each their own little shitshow of a different variety, with an old woman who was wearing a gallon of perfume, a man with a cat that kept coming over to scratch and bite my ankle, and my final client, Mason.