Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
And though he wouldn’t have thought it, they shared an unexpectedly dry sense of humor that seemed in character for Jack, who was a little grouchy, but always surprised Rye in Charlie, who seemed so stoic.
Then there was Simon. He knew from Jack’s fierce injunction at the Crow Lane house—and Charlie’s last-minute reminder before their arrival—that Simon’s intense anxiety flared around strangers.
He’d noticed Simon was nice-looking, but since he’d mostly looked at the ground when they were working together, Rye was surprised to see that he was beautiful, with eyes the startling blue of a flame. He was also, once he’d warmed up a bit, much snarkier than Rye had previously seen, and Rye decided he liked him.
Jack and Simon talked about their animals and Jack told a story about how their St. Bernard (named Bernard—a joke? Rye wasn’t sure) and Box, the puppy they got a few months ago, had joined forces on walks to befriend a pack of chipmunks.
“To try and eat them?” Rye asked.
“No, no,” Jack assured him. “Bernard is a gentle giant. He just wants to lie on the ground and have a bunch of chipmunks curl up on top of him.”
“I follow an Instagram account like that,” Simon said wistfully.
“My friend Kyle had a dog he used to bring everywhere,” Rye said. “He’d wear his backpack in the front like a baby carrier and put her in facing out so she could see the world. And she just wanted to make friends with everyone she met.”
As he said it, Rye realized that he’d been here for a month and Kyle hadn’t texted him once, nor had he texted Kyle. Amazing how someone could be a part of your daily life and then simply have no bearing on anything at all.
To distract himself from that thought, he said, “I bet Marmot would like to go on walks. That’s my cat.”
At her name, the cat in question wandered into the dining room, sniffing at the air, and Rye patted his lap for her. She curled up on his thighs and tucked her head under her paw.
“Aww,” Simon said. “She can come if you want.”
“Maybe. Thanks.”
Rye stroked Marmot’s ears and she purred.
“The food’s really good, Rye,” Charlie said. His eyes were soft.
“It is,” Jack agreed, as Simon said, “Really good.”
“Just very relieved it’s not meatloaf. Been a lot of that over the years,” Jack said, winking at Charlie.
Charlie flipped him off good-naturedly, but said nothing.
Rye waited but Simon just nodded in anti-meatloaf sympathy. Fury and disbelief fizzed under Rye’s skin as he stared at Jack.
“Uh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me get this straight. Your eighteen-year-old brother put food on the table for you and you’re teasing him because you didn’t happen to like one of the foods he learned to cook in order to take care of you? What the fuck?”
Three pairs of very wide eyes blinked at him from around the table. Rye had more to say but he clenched his teeth and forced himself to relax by petting Marmot, who’d woken in his lap at the tension in his limbs.
Jack looked stunned. He opened his mouth several times before finding any words.
“I’m sorry, bro. I never meant... I didn’t... You know I appreciate you, right? And everything you did for me?”
Charlie nodded.
“Sure. I know. Don’t worry about it.”
“I—It was just a joke. I didn’t mean to be a dick about it.”
“You weren’t a dick,” Charlie said.
He smiled and the tension between him and Jack was diffused. But Rye was not appeased.
“You were,” Rye said matter-of-factly. “I believe you didn’t mean to be,” he added. “But you were.”
Simon was examining the table intently, his hands clenched in his lap.
“I... I’m sorry,” Jack said. “But he barely even likes meatloaf himself. It’s...it’s meatloaf.”
He said it like no one could possibly like meatloaf. Sure, Rye also happened not to be a fan, but that wasn’t the point.
“You think every week for nearly twenty years, he’s made something he doesn’t like?” Rye asked.
Marmot stood up on his knee, arched her back in a languorous stretch, and ran off, done with any nonsense of humans that didn’t result in her getting pet or fed.
“Well. But. Wait, Charlie?”
Jack looked at Charlie, who folded his napkin in his lap with concentrated precision.
“I like it,” he said simply, shrugging.
Jack gaped.
“Shit, man, I’m sorry. I thought... Damn, I dunno what I thought.”
“It’s really okay,” Charlie said.
“Sorry,” Jack murmured again.
Charlie shot Rye an assessing look. He didn’t seem angry, but it certainly wouldn’t be the first time Rye got an earful after the fact. People were rather expectedly resistant to the truth when it made them uncomfortable.
Predictably, the night ended soon after that.
Jack followed Charlie into the kitchen, leaving Rye and Simon standing in awkward silence.
“Hey, Simon, um... Not to be a total weirdo but, uh, any chance you wanna be friends?”